Come Starlight
by Geale
Summary: The Committee for Extraordinary and Unprecedented Magical Achievements has decided to grant Harry Potter one Wish. Sirius!returns fic. Harry/Sirius SLASH. EWE.
1. The Wish

**Title: **Come Starlight

**Summary**: The Committee for Extraordinary and Unprecedented Magical Achievements has decided to grant Harry Potter one Wish.

**Pairing:** Harry/Sirius (Yes, his _godfather, _I'm well aware!)

**Rating: **M/R

**Warnings:** Slash. EWE. A bit of Angst.

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. May she be granted every Wish she makes.

**A/N:** After years in the LotR realm, this is my very first HP fic. I've read and loved many, but not nearly every one around so I can only hope I'm not by accident using ideas already explored.

I've stayed very faithful to the books but I'm – oops! - ignoring the (in)famous Epilogue. This means Harry/Ginny implied but, for the sake of the argument, let's say that Sirius did not appear in the Forbidden Forest when Harry used the Resurrection Stone.

The lines in italics opening and closing Chapter One are taken directly from _The Deathly Hallows_, chapter 36, _The Flaw in the Plan. _

Finally, I really hope you enjoy this!

*** Come Starlight ***

**Chapter One – The Wish**

_And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backwards, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upwards. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snake-like face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse..._

Then gone were the broken walls of the Great Hall, and the mass of students, teachers and family members. Gone was also the form of Voldemort, flung into the air as the Killing Curse rebounded on him; and Harry was standing in a small room. The white light that seemed to emanate from the walls, the floor and the ceiling was different from the golden haze at King's Cross, and he knew without checking that Dumbledore was nowhere nearby.

He felt oddly detached from his own body and senses. He had defeated Voldemort, had seen him die at last, and yet he knew no joy. At the most, he was mildly curious.

"State you full name, please."

Harry would have reeled backwards when the tiny, elderly witch appeared before him, had he not discovered that he was practically glued to the shining white floor when he attempted just that. She seemed to hover in mid-air with her silvery-blue robes flowing about her, but then he realised she was standing atop a high stool. Her short curls were as grey as Umbridge's but softer; in fact, her whole appearance was softer, and she was smiling at him.

"I'm sorry?" he croaked, relieved at least, that he had not lost his ability to speak.

"State you full name, please," she repeated.

"Um... Harry James... Potter," he said, and no more had he done so before a piece of parchment and a silver quill had materialised in the air before her face.

"Ah, yes!" She scanned the parchment before lowering it and looking up. "And you deed, sir?"

"My deed?"

"Yes, why are you here?"

He glanced around but the room had not changed in the slightest and all the white light gave him no clue whatsoever. "Where am I exactly?"

Utter confusion passed across her face before she suddenly brightened. "Of course! Mr Potter you must forgive me." She leaned in a little and smiled, "I forget that we are unknown to most of the wizarding kind. And to the Muggles," she added as an afterthought. Then she pulled herself up and tapped the parchment with her quill. "Now, what would you say that you were doing right before you found yourself here?"

Harry stared at her. "I, well..." Flashes of the battle rose before his eyes. Mrs Weasley had killed Bellatrix, the curse went straight for her heart and the most faithful of Death Eaters was history.

He had spun circles upon the floor with Voldemort; they had taunted each other, Harry thinking, hoping, knowing that he had the upper hand, but also praying that there would be _no more _surprises. Their respective curses had crashed against each other and Voldemort was vanquished by a mere '_Expelliarmus_'.

The witch was looking at him expectantly and Harry swallowed. "I, um, defeated Lord Voldemort."

At this, the floor beneath him seemed to shake. The Prophecy, the path Dumbledore had staked out for him, his mother's sacrifice, all the long years spent at Privet Drive, the Order... even every Chocolate Frog he had ever eaten seemed like a part of a greater scheme, and his his thoughts grew tangled as the circles of time itself closed in on him.

The tiny witch, however, seemed completely unaffected by his announcement. Another parchment had materialised in her hand and she was eyeing this new one most intently. After a few moments' heavy silence she nodded and smiled at him again. "Excellent."

When he could think of nothing to say she turned back to her perusing of what he supposed were notes and made a few additions with her quill. "Well, then, Mr Potter," she said finally, "it is my pleasure to inform you that you have been granted one Wish by The Committee for Extraordinary and Unprecedented Magical Achievements. It is advisable to thoroughly consider the options before stating your Wish."

"A wish?" Harry echoed her, slowly but steadily losing his grip on what was happening. Meeting Dumbledore at King's Cross had, in a weird way, made sense to him, whereas this was becoming more and more odd.

"One _Wish_, yes." There was something maternal about the way she was regarding him. "I dare say you deserve it," she added with a twinkle in her eyes that Harry noticed were the same silvery-blue as her robes. "And while you think, let me be the first to congratulate you on defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Er... thanks," said Harry weakly. He tried to gather his wits. "What are those options you mentioned?"

Seemingly pleased that he was catching on at last, she glanced down at her notes again. "The Committee grants personal Wishes," she said matter-of-factly, "meaning that you cannot, unfortunately some argue, Wish for an end to mass starvation or the happiness and well-being of friends and relatives, for example. The Wish must be intimately tied to your person, Mr Potter."

"It will only benefit me?" Harry asked, in an attempt to establish the boundaries of something he was not sure he believed in.

She smiled again. Indeed she seemed to do little else. "I am sure your happiness will spill over on to your loved ones," she said.

"But it cannot include another person?"

"It could..." A small crease appeared between her grey brows. "I think, Mr Potter, that I shall have to hear your Wish first to proclaim it valid. This is somewhat of a grey area, this additional person business. The Committee has discussed it for _years_ but still the old rule stands: your Wish must, first and foremost, benefit you, as you yourself so astutely phrased it."

Even in his current state of confusion, a few specific thoughts came to him. He thought of Ginny, of all the long months of terror they had spent apart, and how he would like to ensure that their future – together? - was bright and joyful. Then the image of Mrs Weasley crying over Fred's lifeless body struck him like a blow. If only he could offer her some consolation.

And Lupin, and Tonks, who had left behind a newborn son. Teddy, who, just as Harry, had had his parents torn from him far, far too early in life. Teddy, too, needed love. And so did Neville... and _his_ parents sentenced to lifelong madness by Bellatrix.

Then a wild thought sprouted somewhere in a dark, forbidden corner of his mind. It was almost as if he could feel the Resurrection Stone, cold and dreadfully enchanting in his hand again. His heart picked up an unsteady rhythm and he had to fight to keep his voice even and devoid of excitement.

"You couldn't... bring back people from the dead?" It was not how he had meant to phrase it, but the idea of his parents standing once more beside him, the possibility that he could have them back, was almost nauseating.

Compassion bloomed in her eyes and he knew then that hope was lost. "I am sorry, Mr Potter, but the Killing Curse is final," she said gently.

It was. Had not he been told so a thousand times? And yet, in this moment he could think of nothing else he would rather wish for than to have Lily and James Potter restored to life. The shining white all around him suddenly seemed muted and dull.

"I suppose I'll just wish for happiness then," he muttered, not knowing when exactly he had decided to play along. But not even the thought of Ginny could conquer the despair that had begun to weave around his heart. He had, if not killed Voldemort, at least made sure his existence had been extinguished and if that was not enough to get his parents back, then nothing would be. A part of him argued that he could not have been so stupid as to think that _anything_ could indeed revive the dead, but the voice was feeble in the face of a new, hitherto unknown, wave of grief that passed through him.

"Mr Potter," the witch said, still gently, "I would advise you to not throw away this Wish..."

"Happiness won't benefit me?" he challenged in a voice that had gone slightly rough.

"Oh, it will, I am sure," she said quickly. "But it is such a broad term. Consider instead what would make you truly happy." She smiled encouragingly at him.

"What would make me 'happy'?" Bitterness leaked into his words unbidden. "I've seen too many people die, people that _would _have made me happy had they lived on, but they are gone and you can't bring them back!"

She stood unmoved by his explosion, her soft gaze fixed on him.

"My parents... Dumbledore, Lupin, Tonks, Fred, Mad-Eye..." The names spilled from his lips like a mantra. "Sirius."

_Sirius_. He snorted. Sirius who had not even come to him when he turned over the Resurrection Stone in the Forest. No, perhaps his godfather had not cared, after all. Had realised Harry was indeed not James and had decided to stay away as the final battle drew close. Harry had chosen not to fight, had chosen to surrender and that was not Sirius' way. Had not Hermione once said that–

"Sirius Black?" The witch was running her quill down a new piece of parchment that had appeared in her hand.

"Yeah," muttered Harry through the pointless rage that had claimed him. "What about him?"

"He's on the list," she beamed at him. "Tell me, what was your relationship with him?"

"He was my godfather."

"Ah, so he was." She gave him a conspiratorial wink. "I've got it all here, I only need you to verify it first."

"Right," he growled. Then his eyes shot to her face. "What list?"

She looked astoundingly pleased. "On the list of people possible to Return."

The ensuing silence lowered itself upon him; it was so heavy Harry was sure he had stopped breathing. The witch had resumed her previous expression of patient expectation.

If anything, this room had turned Harry into a parrot. "People possible to return?"

"To _Return_, Mr Potter," she corrected him. "To life. It is believed that his Return would bring you much joy."

The idea penetrated Harry's mind at an alarmingly slow pace. "You could bring back Sirius?" he asked finally, his voice steeped in so much incredulity that she should have been deeply offended. As it were, however, she only kept smiling. "But you said..."

"I said that the Killing Curse was final, Mr Potter. According to my records here, your godfather, Sirius Black, son of Orion and Walburga Black, fell through the Veil in the Chamber of Death at the Ministry of Magic some two years ago. Is that correct?"

Struck numb, Harry could only nod, but when she seemed to prefer a verbal confirmation, he forced out a 'yes' in a voice that sounded nothing like his own.

"The Veil... the Veil..." she mumbled as she reached out for yet a new parchment and scanned it. "Here we are! Yes, no... Department of Mysteries... Oh, dear..."

Harry truly did not breathe now. There was something stirring in him that he had not allowed himself to acknowledge for what felt like an eternity. As though his life depended on it, he kept his eyes fastened upon the tiny witch, whose mutterings had somehow replaced his need for air.

She frowned as she read on. "Dark, very dark... Removed from life. _Have I not told them–_" With an annoyed shake of her head she grew silent. Then there was a flicker of something bright in her blue eyes and she lowered the parchment to look Harry directly in the eye. _"_Not final."

It was as though he had been waiting for these exact words for as long as he had lived. Harry opened his mouth to speak but no words came.

She appeared to have understood him, however, because she smiled. "Yes, Sirius Black can be Returned." Before he could make any type of response, she went on. "It is my duty to inform you though, Mr Potter, that it is very likely, if not guaranteed, that the bond you once shared with Mr Black will change once he has Returned. It seems to be the general rule."

Surely it was a game? A cruel game, or a dream? Harry stared at her and tried to identify the crack in the façade where he could slip through and forget.

"Mr Potter?" She looked a tad worried at his obvious lack of excitement.

"But he's dead."

"Ah." Her smile was back. "Yes, anyone would think so. Even the Ministry records such unfortunate events as 'deaths' because there really is no way of calling back those poor souls that have fallen through the Veil–"

"But then–"

"Except by making a Wish," she pressed on, "granted by our Committee."

In the back of his head, he heard Ron's voice loud and clear: _Harry, mate, this is mental. Get yourself out of here!_, but he could not. Not only did he find it impossible to move, but he also knew that if there was the slightest chance of Sirius coming back, he would seize it, no matter how unbelievable it was.

"How would the bond change?" he heard himself asking above Ron's chanted warnings.

"I think you can expect it to intensify. Admittedly, we very rarely find ourselves granting Wishes and so sadly this is a field in which we've had the opportunity of doing very little research."

"How do you mean 'intensify'?"

She sifted through her records. "You were close before he, um, died, as it is so brutally put?"

"Yeah... He was like..." _A father? A friend? _Dumbledore had observed, while the old Headmaster still lived, that the roles had sort of become blurred and not even Harry could say for certain what Sirius had been to him. "Yeah, we were close."

"Then surely you will be even closer after his Return." A fifth parchment materialised in her hand. Her eyes wandered over it and she nodded, apparently confirming her own assumptions. "Yes... Between the Returned and the Wishmaker, a new link is forged... Unable to predict its nature... And the rest is speculations, I'm sorry to say."

Ron's voice had stopped screaming somewhere along the way and all went very quiet. Harry did not want to wake up, did not want to return, himself, to Hogwarts, to see Voldemort's lifeless body thrown on to the floor. He wanted to remain in this place, where Sirius was proclaimed not dead, only 'removed from life'.

If there was the slightest chance...

"I Wish," he said then, as though the choice had been made for him, his voice clear and steady, "that Sirius Black may be Returned to life."

She was beaming again. "An excellent Wish, Mr Potter."

… _and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy's shell._

**TBC**

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	2. A Place to Mourn

Thank you so much for the reviews! I've done my best to answer all of them.

Right, I'm sort of feeling the pressure now... No funny Committees in this chapter.

**Chapter Two – A Place to Mourn**

Harry did not know who had decided it but he knew he was grateful. He did not think he could face the familiarity of The Burrow now, not when Fred was not breathing any more. And if _he _found it an impossible prospect, he could not even begin to imagine how the Weasleys were feeling. Therefore, it was with huge relief that he stumbled across the threshold to number twelve, Grimmauld Place after Kingsley who, with a series of complicated flicks of his wand, made the anti-Snape jinxes Moody had put in place disappear, just like that.

Ginny was somewhere behind him, her face pale and streaked with tears. George was ashen-faced, moving only because Percy and Mr Weasley held him upright. Mrs Weasley's scream when Professor McGonagall had coaxed her away from her fallen son's body still echoed in Harry's mind and he hardly dared to look at her as she was led into the hallway by Bill and Fleur. Ron and Hermione, hand in hand, brought up the rear.

It must have been Kingsley, Harry decided as he watched the tall black man advance deeper into the house, the gaslights coming to life as he passed. This seemed important; if he could only occupy his mind with these mundane thoughts, he would not collapse. Kingsley would make a great Minister... Even the Dursleys had exhibited some kind of respect for him. Where were his aunt and uncle now? Harry forced the image of Dudley to rise before his eyes. To think that Dudley had tried to make peace with him. Yes, Kingsley would see to everything...

The door swung closed and taken by surprise, Bill and Fleur staggered under the weight of a suddenly crumpling Mrs Weasley. As if from a great distance, Harry saw Hermione break free from Ron to come to their aid. Ron looked lost without her. Ginny, too, turned to her mother but she seemed incapable of moving. Harry backed into a corner when he really meant to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight.

Upstairs there were beds waiting. Rooms to mourn in. Mr Weasley and Percy were tugging George towards them, and Harry caught Bill glancing at his father and probably judging it a wise decision to follow him.

Little by little, painfully slow, they all made it up the stairs while Harry remained in his corner. He watched how Ginny, her long red hair matted now, her robes torn and dusty, followed her father blindly. He caught Hermione's eye as she passed him. She opened her mouth as if to speak but no words came; she pleaded with him silently instead, her brown eyes filling with tears. Harry only shrugged; he did not need her apologies. Ron had seized her hand again.

At long last, only Harry and Kingsley remained in the hallway and they turned to look at each other.

"Harry," the other man began in his deep voice, "can they stay here for a few days?" Kingsley's robes, too, were torn in places and a deep gash stretched across his cheek. He sounded tired but there was a memory of a determined light in his eyes.

Harry nodded. "'Course."

"Thank you." Kingsley ran a hand across his jaw. "The Death Eaters raided this place immediately after Yaxley discovered its location but... they were disappointed with what little they found..." His eyes bore into Harry's, searching for the truth somewhere in them. He did not look angry or upset that the Order's headquarters had been thus abused by the enemy, but it was plain that he wanted to know what had happened. Eventually, when this tactic earned him nothing, his shoulders dropped and he concluded, "This should be safe enough."

"Yeah..." He did not care. But Kingsley was in charge now and and so Harry dragged up some semblance of interest from some well-hidden reserve within. "If Kreacher survived the battle, he can tell me what happened." Until he heard himself say it, it had not struck him that the house-elf, too, might have perished at Hogwarts, but he brutally shoved the thought away and concentrated on the man opposite him instead.

Doubt had settled in Kingsley's features. "Harry, that elf–"

"Is not as bad as you think," Harry cut across him with a faint smile. "He is gravely misunderstood."

"All right..." Kingsley looked far from convinced but he did not push the matter further. "If that is so, then perhaps he can keep house for you." The was more than just a trace of disbelief in his voice.

"I hope so," said Harry.

Kingsley regarded him thoughtfully for a moment before he spoke again. "I must be going, Harry. I think it's safe to assume that chaos is raging at the Ministry. And..." he paused with a sigh, "if Arthur insists on coming to work, tell him again that he is forbidden to set foot within Ministry walls."

"Mr Weasley wants to go back to work?" Harry asked him incredulously, momentarily sidetracked. "But..."

Kingsley's voice softened, "We all deal with grief differently, but I have refused his offer of help for now."

As Harry followed him to the door he pondered his options. Kingsley's unvoiced questions had reminded him that there still was a world out there, on the other side of the door to Grimmauld Place. "Um, will we need any protective enchantments?"

The Auror – _Minister_, Harry reminded himself – paused with his wand raised and turned to look at him. "The house remains Unplottable," said Kingsley slowly, "and still well-guarded. Of course, we don't know how many of those who learnt its location is still alive... Yes, I'd put up a few additional ones if I were you, as a precaution. Also, Harry, there are bound to be reporters hunting you." He tapped the door lightly with his wand and it slid open a fraction. "I'll drop in as soon as possible."

There was more, so much more, to say but Kingsley left without another word and for this, too, Harry was grateful. Soon enough he would be asked to explain and recount for his year of absence, but if he could push that hour further into the future, he would do so gladly.

He spent the afternoon aimlessly wandering through the house but staying clear of the upper levels which he guessed that the Weasleys and Hermione now occupied. Occasionally he heard doors open and close and he assumed that was somebody using the toilet. He had expected Hermione to come downstairs after a while, but as the day wore on he must accept that she was probably going to stay with Ron, and Ron should be with his family.

_You could be comforting Ginny,_ a small voice in the back of his head whispered. _They wouldn't mind your company. Mrs Weasley considers you her son... _But he did not want to intrude. What did it matter that he was like a son to Mrs Weasley when she had just lost one of her biological children? Harry could never replace Fred. What if Ginny, when she looked at Harry, saw only death and despair? No, he would stay downstairs, give them some space.

"_Reparo," _he mumbled for the hundredth time, pointing his wand at a chair that had been overturned with such force that two of its legs had been ripped off. Maybe this was not how he had envisioned the hours following the defeat of Voldemort and yet he could not really think of another way to spend them. He could be here, silently guarding the mourning family upstairs, or he could be the centre of attention, outshining Kingsley himself, at the Ministry. But Harry had never been one to enjoy the flashes of cameras.

Outside, the glorious early summer sunlight celebrated by itself, flooding the tiny, shabby square and bouncing off every shiny surface it could reach. Only a small portion of it made its way into Grimmauld Place and shadows stubbornly clung to every room and hallway. A couple of times he tried to sleep, curling up on the sofa in the drawing room and pulling a moth-eaten old quilt over himself, but every time he closed his eyes, there danced before his eyelids images that did not need any manipulation or Dark Magic to be sinister. Fred's lifeless face twisted into Lupin's; then Tonks' slim form transformed into Dumbledore's broken body, which became the head of Nagini, soaring through the air... only to land with a thud before his feet, hissing, and with eyes flashing scarlet. In his gloomy corner, Harry's eyes flew open and he lay panting with a sheen of sweat coating his brow. It was then that he let the tears come at last, free, maybe for the first time, to really feel, but needing to see no more.

Time crawled by; in this house that held so much history it seemed to pass very slowly. As his breathing evened out, Harry lay listening to it, imagining that if he skipped his next breath, and then the one after that, he'd still be alive somehow. In here, it did not really seem to matter; the walls would soak you up and you would become a part of the house's soul, mingling with its history and living through it.

However, as tempting as that sounded right now, that was not how he intended to spend eternity. Dragging himself into a sitting position, his stinging eyes fell on the curtains which had, two years ago, been infested with a Doxy population. When Sirius was still alive. Without thinking, he directed his wand at them and the heavy, dark fabric turned a pale yellow through which a little more sunlight could filter.

He sat for a long while, simply regarding the alteration. The effect was rather striking: in itself the yellow was perfectly harmless but the way it clashed with the rest of the house was close to alarming. Satisfied, he cast off the quilt, turned his back on them and made his way to the downstairs kitchen.

It was a strange thing to be back. The last time he had seen it, he, Ron and Hermione had been sharing an early breakfast before leaving for the Ministry to retrieve the locket from Umbridge. If the Death Eaters had come here, they would have found their maps and notes, but to Harry's surprise, the large wooden table was cleared and clean-scrubbed; there was no sign of their plotting. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, he pulled out a chair, sat down and said aloud, "Kreacher."

There was a _crack_ and before him stood the old house-elf, a little worse for wear but with a fierce light in his bloodshot eyes. There was a moment of silence and then Kreacher gave a jerky sort of bow. "Master Harry Potter has returned," the elf stated solemnly, his voice at odds with his intense stare. "The vanquisher of the Dark Lord. Harry Potter follows in the footsteps of venerable Master Regulus who perished at the hands of the enemy."

"Er... right," said Harry, a bit overwhelmed by this little speech, "yes, I'm sorry about that. But I'm happy to see you alive, Kreacher, and I want to thank you for coming to Hogwarts..."

But the house-elf was shaking his head and fiercely blinking away heavy tears. "Kreacher had to defend the honour of his master," he croaked.

Thinking it best to refrain from asking whether he alluded to Regulus or himself, Harry leaned forwards. "I'm very grateful for it." Hermione would have beaming with pride had she heard it, he supposed, but he had not said it to please anyone; he was happy to discover that he really, truly meant it. "Listen, Kreacher," he continued, "I have a question for you..."

"Kreacher will try to answer any question of Harry Potter's to the best of his ability," the elf said gravely. The old rag he was dressed in was filthier than ever.

"Um, good." The perfect wording eluded him and so he simply ploughed on. "Hermione and the Weasley family have returned here with me. Fred, one of the twins... died in the battle and... well, they'll be living here for a while. I don't know how long." Saying it aloud for the very first time, actually _telling _somebody about Fred's death caused him a very real, physical pain. Harry swallowed hard and pressed on, "I'm giving you a choice, Kreacher. Either you can stay here and in that case I will ask you to, er, keep house for us, or I will set you free."

He knew by the twisting of the small face into an expression of pure disgust that he had managed to offend the elf despite his good intentions. "Leave the noble and most ancient house of Black?" spat Kreacher. "Master Harry Potter would send Kreacher away!"

"No, no!" Harry hurried to say. "No, not against your will! But if you'd prefer being free..." He trailed off as he realised he was not making things better.

"Keracher would _never _leave the house of his mistress!" cried the elf in an unusually high-pitched voice. "For _generations_, Kreacher has served the Black family and if Harry Potter–"

"OK!" Harry cut across him. "I get it. You can stay! In fact," he produced a weak smile, "I'd be grateful if you did because I don't think I'm a good cook and we can't all survive on air."

This admission had an effect on Kreacher as magical as any command or wave of a wand. The old house-elf rounded on him with a suspicious glare. "Harry Potter needs Kreacher to stay?"

"Yes, I do." said Harry quickly. "I don't think Mrs Weasley will be in any state to... to..." He finished with an awkward gesture. "You know..."

The house-elf nodded, oddly calm and solemn once more. "Kreacher knows how the loss of a son will pain a mother."

As Harry looked into the bloodshot eyes, he felt a great breath escape him. He sank down deeper into the chair. "Will she survive it?" he asked quietly.

For a moment, the elf appeared not to have understood him. "Master Harry Potter is asking Kreacher?"

"Yeah," Harry felt another pale smile curve his lips, "I guess I am."

The elf was quiet for some time. When he spoke again, his voice, too, had dropped a few notches. "Mrs Weasley has many children. She must live for them," he grunted.

Harry opened his mouth to answer but found no words. He looked down at the elf he had once loathed. "Thank you," he managed.

Kreacher only huffed in response and shuffled over to the stove. Neither of them said another word while the house-elf produced a steaming pot of tea and a minor mound of sandwiches. Not until he had been offered his share, Harry discovered that he was, in fact, hungry and he dug in eagerly. When he glanced over at Kreacher again, the rest of the sandwiches were gone and Harry guessed they had reappeared in the rooms above.

"Kreacher will dust," the elf announced gruffly and he left Harry alone in the kitchen.

The hours dragged by and still there was no sign of Hermione or any of the Weasleys. Harry had half hoped that Kingsley might make an appearance that night, but of course the new Minster for Magic, albeit temporary, had too much to do at the Ministry. He did not see Kreacher either but around dinnertime, found a bowl of chicken soup and some bread on the kitchen table.

Driven at last to a bookcase, he picked out something that Madam Pince would immediately have shoved away into the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library without deigning it a second glance. When he opened it, the book gave a rumble but did not attack him so he brought it with him downstairs and settled in the dining room, and by the light of a few candles began to pretend to read.

The light faded around him as evening wore on and his thoughts strayed unbidden back to the battle. Only twenty-four hours ago he had been walking to his death. Now he was in Grimmauld Place, trying to comprehend.

This was freedom. This was what is was like being free from a curse and a doom.

This was what is was like having not to fear.

Voldemort was no longer, and Harry was lonely.

Something, a shred of a memory, or the flicker of a dream, raced through him. He sat up a little straighter, blinking in the sudden darkness. The candle flames were hesitating; they seemed to shrink, grow paler and then, were completely swallowed by the night.

With his heart pounding, Harry got to his feet. Letting out an angry hiss, the book flapped closed without his aid. He ignored it; his skin was prickling, but not like his scar used to do. This was different. An icy draft sifted through the drawing room to twine around his spine and make him shiver. He had not heard the door open and no one could Apparate into the house unless the enchantments prohibiting just that had somehow been lifted. The questions he should have asked Kingsley rushed over him: did he think that any surviving Death Eaters would come looking for Harry? Was there a chance any of them was still out there, bent on coming to take him out, to avenge the death of Voldemort? He had been foolish to not want to talk about it. If not dead, where was Yaxley now?

No sound came from the hallway. With his wand in a strong grip, Harry edged towards the doorway. The darkness was now so compact he could not even make out his own feet but he did not dare to risk a little light; if he could not see, he – hopefully – could not be seen. He crept closer and closer to the doorway, grateful for his earlier half-hearted cleaning session; there was no more broken glass on the floor and almost every chair and table had resumed its usual place.

The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he peered out into the hallway. Then, as though he had been deaf before, he now heard the sound of shallow breathing. Had he survived _everything _only to walk straight into the arms of some waiting henchman of Voldemort's? With his blood pounding in his ears he raised his wand, a jinx already on his tongue, when the candles in the drawing room burst into life again and the light of the street lamps outside poured in through the windows and carried all the way to where Harry stood; and the light fell upon a face, almost completely drained of colour, but so familiar that the sight of it stabbed Harry like a blade.

"Sirius?"

He barely knew he had opened his mouth, but the whisper echoed tauntingly down the hallway. The memory of something silvery-blue, of a gentle smile that was almost like a promise raced across his mind.

As though it pained him greatly, the man that might have been the very shadow of Death looked up, but when his grey gaze fell on Harry there was a flicker of life in it and Harry ran straight into the outstretched arms.

**TBC**


	3. A Not So Small Surprise

First, thank you all so much for your faith in this story!

Second, here are my thoughts on the robes vs. Muggle clothes issue: reading the books gives us the impression that grown-up witches and wizards wear robes _all the time. _Therefore, if I were to stay true to this view, we'd see no Sirius in tight jeans... However, as has been pointed out before, _many _witches and wizards are half-bloods or Muggle born and these people – even past their majority – surely know how to assemble a proper Muggle outfit, i.e. I find it hard to believe that _everyone _in the wizarding world manages to mismatch their pieces of clothing so terribly as is described in the books. Even pure-bloods (such as Sirius) must have come in contact with Muggle fashion, no? Also, the sweaters Mrs Weasley keeps knitting surely count (also?) as Muggle wear. Conclusion: I'm heading towards a compromise: there will be Muggle clothes but there will also be robes.

And since this fic is M-rated, there will also be chapters featuring neither clothes, nor robes. That's a promise.

**Chapter Three – A Not So Small Surprise**

It was long past midnight when Harry at last fell silent, his throat dry but his heart still beating at a ridiculously quick pace. The candlelight played on Sirius' gaunt face but it seemed to want to stay away from the dark pools under his eyes, and only very briefly did it touch his lips. He looked older, and yet had not changed a bit since Harry last saw him on that hellish day in the Chamber of Death: he was wearing the same robes, his hair had not grown, but his skin held a hint of grey and it seemed he had forgotten how to smile.

They had not made it further than the dining room and now they were seated next to each other. Harry had needed no encouragement to speak. As soon as Sirius' frighteningly empty eyes had fastened upon him, the words had come flooding past his lips, building around them a web of terror, of history and despair; of the hopes of a few fools, and the never-ending, unrequited love for a particular green-eyed woman. He had told Sirius most of what had transpired during the past two years, of Dumbledore's death and the mission he had entrusted Harry with. He recounted the hunt for the Horcruxes, how Kreacher and Regulus had played out their parts in the twisted game, and about the death of Snape, whose allegiance to the Order had rested upon the memory of Lily Evans.

Sirius listened in silence, his eyes never leaving Harry's face, and he barely moved. It was not until Harry could evade it no longer that something flashed across his face.

Harry's hands lay cold as ice in his lap. He licked his lips. "Sirius..." he began, pushing down a rush of nausea, "in the final battle..."

"What?" His godfather's voice was no more that a horse whisper, a raspy breath. Had Harry not already made the acquaintance of a few ghosts, he would have imagined them to have voices such as Sirius'.

"They were everywhere, the Death Eaters..." said Harry feebly, knowing that he was already pleading. Pleading with Sirius to understand and not hate him for surviving that night in Godric's Hollow so many years ago. "I'm sorry..."

"Who?"

He closed his eyes briefly, searching for anything he might hold on to. When he opened them again, he'd found nothing. "Fred... Tonks... and... and Lupin."

He saw something shatter in Sirius. It was a something that should have been whole and shining brightly. His godfather fell forwards and buried his face in his hands. Useless, Harry watched him, unable to console, not knowing what to say or do.

The candles were burning very low when Sirius moved again, and to Harry it felt like days – months – had passed. Sirius sat up straighter but made no effort to hide the glistening streaks of tears on his hollow cheeks. "Voldemort's gone?" he asked finally.

"Yes," said Harry simply. It sounded like an exhale. "Tonks and Lupin were married. They left behind a son. Ted, or Teddy. He's with Tonks' mum."

His godfather digested this information with an expression that all too well betrayed the pain he must be feeling. Harry leaned closer, watching how his own hand cut through the heavy air to land on Sirius' arm. "I'm so sorry."

Sirius looked at him then. There was a moment of indecision when shock and loss came very close to overpowering the blessing of life. "Voldemort's really dead?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "You can't be more dead than Voldemort is right now."

There it was. It was gone so fast he nearly missed it, but he was sure the ghost of a smile flitted across Sirius' pale lips. "Oh, Harry..." he sighed.

When Sirius reached out for him, Harry gratefully sank into his embrace. Though they were seated in separate chairs and the arrangement slightly awkward, Sirius wrapped his arms around him and pulled him tightly to him. Harry closed his eyes, willing the world to stop spinning so maddeningly fast, for history to cease existing if only for a moment; it seemed to him that not remembering must be the greatest treasure. Then he heard the dull beating of his godfathers' heart and knew he was wrong.

"Harry, Harry..." Sirius mumbled into his hair. "I'm so proud of you... and your parents would be so proud..." His hands ran up and down Harry's back, hesitant at first but then they found a rhythm. It was soothing and comforting. "Remus would be so proud of you." He drew a ragged breath.

Sirius smelled of dust, as though he had been stored away for two years in an old closet or a forgotten basement, but there was blood flowing in his veins, and air filling his lungs even as he cried. Harry half lay, half sat, pressed against Sirius' chest with his glasses cutting into his face, and some kind of peace finally settled around them. He did not even question the fact that Sirius had returned. It seemed the most natural thing in the world, as though, on some level, he'd already known that this would happen. That now, when they had all come to the end that should lead into a beginning no one had yet the strength to embrace, Sirius would come back to him. Because there was too much that hurt. Because he did not know if he would have the strength to go on otherwise.

Exhaustion crept through him, and Harry wanted nothing else but to fall asleep right then and there. He even made to remove his glasses, not caring where they landed (another '_Reparo_' would do the trick in the morning) but Sirius caught his wayward hand in one of his own.

"We should get some sleep. In proper beds," he said softly, but in a voice that was still rough around the edges. "Are you sharing a room with Ron?"

"Um..." Harry bit his lip as he, forced out of his pleasantly numb state, knew a cold, sinking feeling of dread. "I don't know." This was a sidetrack to the tale he had up until now chosen to ignore. He reluctantly pulled away and sat up a little straighter.

"You don't know?" Clearly puzzled, Sirius searched his face.

"Yeah... See, Ron and Hermione sort of..." he shrugged. "She's been up there all day."

"Oh... I see." There was an entirely unexpected twitch in the corner of Sirius' mouth. "They wouldn't be, eh..."

"I don't know!" said Harry quickly, before his brain created undesired images for him to get rid off.

"All right. Sorry." Sirius' gaze softened a little and for a second he looked as though he was about to smile but in the end he did not. "But you've grown, Harry," he said quietly. "Last time I saw you, you were fifteen and still..." He sighed and his shoulders dropped. "Well, you've grown."

Harry evaded his eyes. "Well... I still don't want to think about Ron and Hermione... you know... Besides, with Fred gone..."

He trailed off but it did not matter. Sirius nodded, "Yeah, I expect you're right." Then he seemed to pull himself together and he heavily rose to his feet. "Let's have a look... if your bed is, um, taken, we'll find you somewhere else to sleep."

They walked slowly, Sirius looking as if his every step pained him. The house was silent and the bleak streaks of light from the street lamps were twisted among the pitch-black shadows.

Harry followed his godfather up the stairs, ready to steady him if he tripped of slipped on the worn wood, but they made it safely to the second floor. Sirius, now almost lost to him in the surrounding darkness, waited while he carefully pushed the door to his and Ron's old bedroom open and peered inside. By the small portion of light falling in through the window, he made out Ron's sleeping form but other than that the room was empty.

"No Hermione," he whispered, relieved but not sure whether he was proud of that.

He'd thought that Sirius would leave then, but something in the way his godfather was leaning towards him made him step forwards, and his throat grew suddenly tight.

"Harry..."

For a second time that night, he let himself be crushed against a hard chest. Given the choice, he would never have let go.

"You called me back," mumbled Sirius against his temple. "I don't know how you did it, Harry, but I'm never leaving you again."

There were so many things he wanted to say but none of them made it past his lips. Hot tears trickled down his cheeks and were soaked up by Sirius' dusty robes. Somewhere far away Ron grunted in his sleep but right now Harry did not care if he woke the entire population of England for the inconceivable idea that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance of him being happy again had just crossed his mind.

Sirius held him until his breathing had evened out. Then they slowly disentangled and Harry sensed rather than saw that his godfather had been crying too.

"Try to get some sleep," suggested Sirius gently. "I will need you wide awake tomorrow... I reckon my return from the dead will give the whole Weasley family a bit of a fright."

Harry, who had been wiping tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand, stopped mid-movement. "Oh, yeah. I hadn't thought about that..."

Sirius made a sound that, once in another world, might have been a chuckle. "Sleep well, Harry."

And so at last they parted but Harry stood listening until he could no more hear the sound of his godfather's footsteps. Then he slipped inside the room he was once again about to share with Ron, but no longer with Death tainting his every breath.

o.O.o

He did not know for how long he had slept, only that when he opened his eyes, sunlight was streaming in through the grimy window. Not a single dream could he remember and that was, he supposed, after months, years even, of having had fragments of Voldemort's thoughts and feelings shoved his way, a minor sensation. Even so, a heaviness of sorts lay wrapped around his heart and he wondered if it would ever go away completely; not even the thrill of joy that sped through him at the memory of last night's events could pierce it fully. He turned on to his side and his eyes fell on Ron who, still in his pyjamas, lay staring up at the ceiling.

"Hey," said Harry quietly.

"Morning."

"So... how are you, um, feeling?"

Ron heaved a sigh. "Not so bad, really. You should see mum, though... and George. We were scarcely allowed to leave her side yesterday."

"Well, isn't that, you know, normal?" Harry scanned his best friend's face. Ron was pale and his eyes red-rimmed but he looked calm.

"Don't know. Maybe today she'll–"

But he got no further before a high-pitched shriek cut through the house. Ron shot to his feet, his flaming red hair flying. "Hermione!" He bolted towards the door, flung it open and disappeared into the dingy hallway.

Harry, who had known a jolt of fear at the sound suddenly thought he knew what had triggered the scream. "Ron!" He cast aside the covers and stumbled out of bed, and followed the thundering footsteps down the stairs.

All the commotion had disturbed Mrs Black whose roaring accusations of _'Mudbloods!'_ and _'Blood traitors!'_ now rang out around them. With his heart nearly leaping out of his chest, Harry skidded to a stop on the ground floor. It was almost comical: there was indeed Hermione, white-faced and staring with Ron behind her, his eyes almost bulging out of his head and his mouth open in a silent version of her shriek. There was also Sirius, frozen before them, washed and dressed in a ragged pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, but so pale it was hard to tell the difference between skin and fabric.

"Y-you..." stuttered Ron, pointing a shaking finger at Harry's godfather. "But..."

Hermione's lips moved but she made no sound. She tried again and this time she managed a whisper that all but drowned in Mrs Black's ranting (_'Begone from the house of my fathers!'_), "But you're dead."

Sirius, too, appeared to have some trouble forming coherent speech. "I wasn't..." he began, but now doors were flying open and people came crashing down the stairs.

Harry spun around, as though he could explain before they saw, but then Mrs Weasley screamed too and there was no way to prevent chaos. She staggered backwards and was caught by Percy, glasses askew, whose reaction was probably more of an impulse than anything else because he wasn't looking at his mother at all.

In the corner of his eye, Harry caught a movement he knew all too well by now: both Mr Weasley and Ginny had drawn their wands and stood now pointing them at Sirius. This, finally, coaxed him into action and he pushed past Ron and Hermione and threw himself in front of his godfather. "No!"

"Harry!" It was a clear warning. Mr Weasley, shadows playing in his face, spoke through clenched teeth. "Step aside."

"No!" He grabbed Sirius' hand, needing his godfather to speak, to do anything. "It's him! He's alive!"

"He's dead!" cried Mrs Weasley while Mrs Black shouted 'FILTH!'.

Mr Weasley's normally kind eyes were burning. "Harry..."

"Sirius!" Harry pleaded, spinning around, "say something!"

Sirius' grey eyes were reflecting the scene before him. Harry experienced a moment of extreme terror during which he was absolutely sure his godfather was no more than an illusion or a singularly exceptional trick of magic, but then Sirius blinked and said feebly, "Arthur... Molly..."

"Harry, _step aside_!"

"_Scum!"_

"No! Listen!"

"SHUT UP!"

A dense silence followed. George had pointed his wand at Mrs Black's curtains and forced them closed. Now he was staring at Sirius, his wand trembling in his hand. "Who are you?" His voice was hoarse.

Harry finally felt Sirius move behind him and his godfather's hold on his hand strengthened. "George," said Sirius very quietly, "I am Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, who fell through the Veil in the Death Chamber two years ago. I was allowed to Return."

"How?"

Sirius shook his head, damp, dark tresses falling around his face. "I'm not sure. I only know Harry called me back."

"I made a Wish," Harry heard himself saying and knew as the words tumbled out of him that that was indeed what had transpired. "I was granted a Wish... after defeating Voldemort."

"But..." Hermione had found her voice, too. "But Sirius died." She sounded like she was pleading with Reason itself.

"He was removed from life, but he didn't die," said Harry. "She said so."

"Who?"

"The witch in blue..." He frowned, trying to recall the details. He was out of breath, even though he had not run far. "He was on some list." Despite the haze of confusion that seemed to have wrapped around his senses, he caught the glimmer of hope in George's eyes and his heart sank. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, "I couldn't choose Fred. The Killing Curse..." No more words were needed; George sagged against the banister and the light in his eyes was extinguished.

No one spoke for some time. Harry felt Sirius shift and could not help but to cherish the way he was solid and real behind him. With their fingers still entwined, Harry felt two realities clawing at him: George's grief tore at his heart relentlessly, and Sirius' presence healed it over and over again.

"You're really back?" Ron was frowning, as though seriously attempting to fit the pieces together.

"Yes," said Sirius. "I am."

"Blimey..." Dragging a hand through his hair, Ron flashed a weak grin. "I thought we'd seen it all."

Grateful beyond words, Harry was prepared to hug him but any such action was prevented by Mr Weasley who, still with his wand raised descended the stairs warily. "How can we be sure you are really Sirius Black?"

Harry was not sure, but he thought his godfather might have sighed. "Arthur," said Sirius softly, "I am no imposter... I'm... I'm an Animagus. My best friends were James and Remus, Prongs and Moony. I was Padfoot, and Wormtail was the fourth of the Marauders, as we called ourselves at Hogwarts." He hesitated before continuing, "I... I gave Harry his Firebolt... Hagrid, my flying motorcycle... I escaped on Buckbeak when–"

Here, however, he was interrupted, and both Harry and Mr Weasley shoved aside, as Mrs Weasley threw herself at him, clutching him to her like he was another one of her children. "Sirius!" she sobbed, "oh, bless, _bless_..."

The rest of her words were unidentifiable but after the initial surprise, Sirius brought his arms round her and patted her back awkwardly; but a hesitant, faint smile slowly settled in his features. Ron, still with a somewhat bewildered look about him, dragged his eyes away from his mother and turned to Harry. "Well, fancy that."

**TBC**


	4. The Two Masters

**Chapter Four – The Two Masters**

"I can't believe it, Harry! I really can't!" Hermione exclaimed some forty minutes later when everyone had settled down a little and had had a chance to wash and dress. Percy had taken it upon himself to Floo to The Burrow to find some clean clothes for his family and he had returned with a large, battered trunk. Looking grim but determined, he had then announced that he was off to the Ministry and not even Mrs Weasley had been able to persuade him to stay at Grimmauld Place.

Hermione had dug three sets of fairly clean Muggle wear out of her beaded bag for herself, Ron and Harry. Now she was pouring tea into seven mugs, frowning and looking slightly offended, as if angry that somebody had intentionally neglected to inform her about the possibility of Returning people from what was presumed to be a certain death. In a way, Harry supposed, she had a point.

He watched the steam rise from the mugs, feeling slightly thrown off balance himself after the recent events. "Well, you had better begin to, because it's true."

"But _how_?" She shook her head, her bushy hair dancing around her face. "I have _never _heard of such a Wish. And he _died._"

"Not really," said Harry, "apparently."

"But–"

"Hermione," Harry cut across her rather sternly. "Come off it. I don't care what happened, really. All I care about is that he has come back."

She opened her mouth in protest but closed it again. Instead a small smile curved her lips. "You know, Harry, despite everything, you look happier now than you have in... well, _months._"

"Years?" he suggested, smiling too.

"Years," she conceded before lowering her voice. "So did he, um, tell you what it was like behind the Veil?"

"No..." Harry glanced over to where his godfather and Mr Weasley were seated at the table, engaged in what looked like a serious conversation. "We didn't get into that." The truth was that he'd been too overjoyed to have Sirius returned to him to want to think about the time he'd been considered dead. "There was so much else to tell..."

"Yeah," she sighed. Then she pushed back her hair and looked him straight in the eye. "Listen, Harry, I'm sorry about yesterday. I really did mean to come downstairs again and keep you company but Mrs Weasley was crying so and Ron and I hadn't had time to talk properly since..." A blush creeping across her cheeks completed her sentence for her.

Harry, who might have been disappointed with her under other circumstances, only smiled. "I guessed as much."

"Oh...!" She caught him in a hug. "Thanks for... Just... Oh, you know..."

His smiled turned into a grin. "Don't spend too much time alone with Ron, though," he warned upon pulling back. "This is the second time in an hour I've seen you at loss for words."

The corners of her mouth twitched but she managed a decent enough scowl. To make amends, Harry offered to carry the tea over to the table and distribute the mugs. He could have done it quicker by magic, but he liked having something to do and the heat that seeped through the porcelain into his hands was welcome. Despite it being a sunny day, the basement kitchen was slightly chilly.

"Percy already knows but we should prepare the others," Mrs Weasley was saying, but she sounded vague, as if she had trouble focusing even though she kept staring at Sirius. Her cheeks were stained with the traces of her tears. "Or Bill and Fleur will be just as surprised when they come back from work..."

"We could stick a note to the door," suggested Ron. "Something like: 'Sirius is alive. Please don't scream when you see him'."

"Because sending a Patronus is so outdated," muttered George behind his mug.

This comment made them all freeze for a second or two and all eyes turned to him. Even Sirius himself and Mr Weasley, who had not reacted when Harry served them their tea, looked up with surprise etched into their faces.

"Oh right," said Ron, but it came out sounding automatic; he was gaping at his brother.

George only shrugged and after a moment's hesitation, Mrs Weasley began nodding eagerly, her trance shattered. "Oh, yes, and one for Kingsley, too, perhaps? Arthur?"

Her husband was quick to catch on. "Of course! I'll see to it, Molly."

After that, a new silence lowered itself upon them and Harry chose the empty seat on Sirius' left. Hermione sank down beside Ron. When Harry looked up, he found that Ginny was watching him intently from her seat between her parents. Something flipped Harry's stomach over and he was not sure whether it was all pleasurable. There were shadows under her eyes too, and though she had always been pale, her red hair contrasted so starkly against her skin now that she might have been fashioned out of marble. She held his gaze for a few shaky heartbeats but then she cast her eyes down.

Try as he might, he could not read her expression. He had missed her so desperately during the quest for the Horcruxes but now it was as though he could not think of a single thing to say to her. The sudden guilt nearly overpowered him; he had been so thrilled to have Sirius Returned to him that he had completely forgotten about her. _But_, he argued with himself, _for two years I thought Sirius was dead – no one can blame me for being happy that he wasn't. _

Only partly aware of it, he drew a little closer to his godfather. Sirius, however, noticed and shifted closer too, and he pulled Harry into a one-armed hug. When it was over, Sirius' hand dropped to a rest at the base of his spine. There was something new, almost intimate, about that touch but Harry drank it down greedily. It was like having his and Sirius' connection affirmed. It told him his godfather was truly here with him and very much alive.

He was torn from his musings as Hermione pushed back her chair and gained her feet. "I'll be right back."

They heard her climb the stairs and then the front door open and close. Mr Weasley looked troubled but, true to her word, Hermione reappeared in the kitchen not a minute later. She was carrying two copies of the _Daily Prophet, _one of which she dumped in the middle of the table and one which she kept for herself.

Ron shot the newspaper a disgusted glare. "Where'd you get that from?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I have renewed my subscription. Since the owls can't find the house, I'm having them dropping the papers off under those bushes by the litter bin in the square. A couple of spells keep the Muggles away..."

Ron did not even seem remotely impressed. "So we're reading that crap again?"

She gave him a pointed look. "Yes we are. Even if we mean to lie low for a while we will still want to know what's going on in the outside world. Besides," she inclined her head to Harry, "it is very likely that they've had a change of attitude."

"But we've got Percy to tell us what happening at the Ministry," protested Ron. "And Kingsley, _who's the Minister, _in case you've forgotten_._"

"You don't want to know the view that is being presented to the public?" Hermione countered.

Ron snorted. "Not really. A bunch of lies, that is." He pointed at the paper.

Sirius hand made a sort of circling motion that immediately drew Harry's attention away from his friends. "Those two?" Sirius murmured with his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah," he smiled.

"You sure?"

Harry elbowed him lightly in the ribs, earning himself a shaky, but familiar, grin. "Think I'm lying?" He was only vaguely aware of Ginny sliding from her chair and quietly leaving the kitchen, and George and Mrs Weasley doing the same not long thereafter. Sirius looked exhausted, but there was a timid sparkle in his grey eyes and Harry thought he had never seen anything so beautiful.

"Harry?"

He jerked at the sound of Ron's voice and tore his eyes away from Sirius' face. "Yeah?" His godfather's hand left his back and a sensation of loss slipped through Harry. He shoved it aside.

Hermione had disappeared behind the _Prophet _and Mr Weasley looked like he was waging a silent war with himself while staring at the untouched copy before him. In the end, he snatched it off the table and stood, mumbling something about sending the Patronuses but already scanning the first page.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Ron shook his head. "Mum's forbidden him to go back to work this week... Anyway, Harry, there aren't any of those sandwiches from yesterday left, by any chance? Or were those the only ones you found?" He frowned. "Where did they come from anyway?"

"Kreacher!" Harry suddenly remembered the conversation he'd had with the house-elf yesterday afternoon.

"Kreacher?" Ron echoed him. "He's alive? Really? I could sure use some breakfast..."

Hermione lowered her newspaper. "You saw Kreacher, Harry? But... oh my..." A crease had appeared between her brows. "

"What?" Harry asked her. He had never liked that particular look of hers since it usually meant that something was amiss.

"Well, you... inherited," she spoke the word with some distaste, "Kreacher from Sirius when he, um, died. But seeing as he is, well, alive again... Who is his master now?"

"I don't think he's ever truly served anyone but Regulus. Or Mrs Black," Harry suggested with a wry smile, but Sirius latched on where Hermione had left off:

"It's the same with the house," he said slowly. "I left it to Harry, and I'm not saying I want it back, but..."

"Couldn't you just summon Kreacher and see which one of you he obeys?" said Ron. When Hermione beamed at him, he shrugged self-consciously but looked fairly pleased with himself. "I'm hungry..."

"All right," said Sirius. "Harry, you have a go."

Harry cleared his throat, "OK... Eh, _Kreacher_!"

_Crack. _The house-elf with his snout-like nose materialised behind the chair at the head of the table. "Master Harry Potte-" He broke off, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Sirius. His solemn expression did not change much but his voice did: it dropped to a disgusted hiss. "It is back, the blood traitor! Poor mistress wept... wept and wept, she did... but Kreacher knew he was dead..."

Harry felt his godfather tense beside him and a glance at Hermione told him that she, too, was afraid of how Sirius might react.

"Kreacher," said Harry loudly, before the insults he sensed were coming – from either direction – could jeopardise their fragile peace, "as you can see, Sirius has returned."

The elf glared at him. "Kreacher is not blind, Harry Potter," he croaked.

"Of course you are not!" Hermione exclaimed and Ron rolled his eyes.

"We were wondering," Harry hastened to continue, "which one of us you will now recognise as your master?"

Kreacher shot Sirius a contemptuous glance. "Master Sirius killed my mistress, yes he did. Broke her heart..."

Sirius made a small move and Harry instinctively laid a hand on his arm. "Sirius," he warned in a low voice.

"It's OK, Harry." His godfather flashed him a grim smile before he turned to the elf. "Kreacher," he said tersely, "Harry has told me what you did for him and Ron and Hermione this past year, and what you did for my brother."

"Kreacher served brave Master Regulus faithfully," the elf muttered. "He told Harry Potter and his friends the truth. Kreacher does not lie about Master Regulus."

"No one's accusing you of lying!" said Hermione earnestly. "You were a great help to us, Kreacher, and we are very grateful."

"Shut up," muttered Ron.

"Listen," Sirius broke in, "I want to apologise to you, Kreacher."

The elf slowly turned back to face him with an expression of pure disbelief.

"I apologise for how I treated you," continued Sirius and despite the strain in his voice he sounded sincere enough, "but if you prefer Harry as your master, I won't object."

"Master Sirius apologises," sneered Kreacher quite audibly. "After he tore the family apart, the traitor. Yes, now he's sorry... Kreacher wonders–"

"I am," insisted Sirius, though he sat rigidly in his chair.

Kreacher glowered at him but then turned to Harry. "Kreacher knows of no bond to Master Sirius, he will serve Harry Potter," he grunted, looking very dispirited. He gave an odd, jerky nod of his head in Ron's and Hermione's direction. "Harry Potter's friends."

"Hey Kreacher..." Ron leaned forwards in his seat with a hopeful smile. "You don't happen to have a few more of those sandwiches from yesterday stored away somewhere?"

"Sandwiches?" Kreacher croaked with badly hidden distaste. He sent Sirius another glare. "Kreacher is a good house-elf. He will make a proper breakfast for his master if he wishes it."

"Brilliant!" Ron looked like he'd just won a thousand galleons. "Harry, come on! Speak up!"

Hermione made a noise of protest but Harry nodded. "Yeah, Kreacher, that'd be great. Breakfast for _all of us, _please?"

With a spasm that might have been a bow, Kreacher disappeared with a _crack. _Another odd sound escaped Hermione.

"I don't believe it!" Ron exclaimed upon turning to her. "You're actually _crying_?"

"No, I'm not!" she protested, fiercely rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

"You are!" Ron doubled over with laughter.

Grinning, Harry watched as Hermione, glassy-eyed, tried to fight a smile. "Oh, all right! It was just so..."

"Sweet?" supplied Ron, still chuckling. "Sirius, mate, you shouldn't have done that."

"Yes, he should!" said Hermione at once. "Remember that Kreacher–"

"Yeah, yeah..." Ron waved her explanation away, "we know."

"I meant it, though," Sirius told Harry, clearly a trace of disbelief in his voice. "I never thought I'd say that, but... I did mean it. I think I did, at least."

"You OK with me...er... keeping him, then?" asked Harry.

His godfather smiled, a peculiar small smile, tinged with sadness. "Keep him, keep the house... I want to see you happy, Harry."

"I don't think a house will..." he trailed off when he met Sirius' eyes. A thrill he had never known before shot through him. "I want to see you happy, too," he mumbled.

He was sure Ron and Hermione were still arguing but he did not make out a single word. All he knew was that Sirius was smiling at him and that he never wanted him to stop.

**TBC**


	5. The Past and the Present

**Chapter Five – The Past and the Present**

Mr Weasley's Patronuses proved effective because when Bill and Fleur arrived at Grimmauld Place that night, there was no screaming. Kingsley, too, dropped by to see for himself that Sirius Black was indeed alive and he promised to find someone at the Ministry who could look into the legal issues regarding the house. He made no promises, though: since the location of the old Black residence still could be considered a great secret, even among wizards, digging into the Ministry's records was likely to be a waste of time.

Harry did not much care if he or Sirius ended up the owner. Once he had got some more sleep and had eaten a few proper meals, he began to think that perhaps the world was going to mend, and all those he loved along with it. This turned out to be a view shared also by Bill and Fleur who, on their third morning at Grimmauld Place tentatively announced that they were intending to return to Shell Cottage that evening. Mrs Weasley, who had pulled herself together somewhat after Sirius' Return, burst into tears and would not be easily consoled.

George and Ginny kept mostly to themselves. The guilt that had begun to claw at Harry on the second day in the house did not leave him but offered no solutions either. Occasionally, he thought he caught Hermione looking at him questioningly but she did not say anything. She and Ron had started to show some more affection publicly; Harry walked in on them kissing one day when he was searching for Kreacher and by the time he'd had the sense to flee the kitchen, all three of them were blushing.

Sometime in the afternoon on their third day, another shriek reverberated through the house, waking Mrs Black and causing Harry to almost walk into a door. With his arms wrapped around his trembling frame, Kreacher stood swaying in agony before the drawing room curtains Harry had altered before. Ron, who upon seeing Kreacher thus had had the audacity to laugh, later found his trainers quivering and covered in sickly yellowish-green blisters that smelled of rotten eggs. When no one openly took responsibility for the abuse of the curtains (Harry, having honestly forgotten about them, was not too keen on making enemies with the elf once more) Kreacher decided to blame Sirius and so consequently, Harry had to secretly shuffle some of his roast potatoes and beef onto his godfather's empty plate that evening.

After this incident, the house-elf seemed intent on showing Sirius how much he preferred having Harry as his master, and he did so by doubling his efforts in the kitchen. Nobody complained at this turn of events, least of all Ron who – as soon as he'd managed to persuade Hermione to heal his shoes – took to encouraging Sirius to glare at the elf on a regular basis, much to Hermione's disapproval.

_Sirius_, Harry repeated to himself. The name only, now that it no longer belonged to a dead man, made him smile. When the fourth day in the house was coming to an end, the wounds that the battle deaths had bestowed upon Harry had begun to heal.

It was, however, easier for him to smile than for anyone else. Ron was in a similar position, in a way. Harry had Sirius and Ron had Hermione, though, of course, Harry did not spend a good portion of each day kissing his godfather. At first – for the thought insisted on returning to him every time he tried to make sense of his feelings – the mere idea made him cringe, but then he got so used to it that he barely reacted when it floated back up to the surface.

_Sirius_, who seemed to oscillate between grief and joy at having returned. Sometimes, Harry's godfather spent long hours, hidden behind a firmly closed door. Sometimes, the mournful light of the gas lamps would tangle in his hair and he would smile. But always upon leaving the confines of his bedroom, he would seek Harry out. They spoke very little for spending so much time in each other's company.

_Sirius_. Is alive.

"Harry?"

He looked up from where he was sitting on his bed, staring at the opposite wall. Hermione was standing in the doorway, a load of Muggle clothes in her arms.

"These are yours," she said. "I've been going through my bag... I've got your rucksack too."

"Oh, right. Thanks." He got up and made to relieve her of his stuff but she flashed a small smile:

"You might want Kreacher to wash them first..."

"Good idea." He glanced around the room. "Just... put them on the floor for now?"

She did not look happy about it but she did as he suggested. "Um, Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I think... Can we talk?"

"Sure." He moved over to the bed and dropped down. "What's up?"

With a sigh, she joined him. She idly picked at a few loose threads in the worn bedspread. "This is all so strange," she began. "We're back here again... Voldemort's dead. Sirius is alive." She shook her head and looked up at him with an expression of genuine incredulity. "Voldemort's really gone, Harry."

"I know..." he said. "I know."

"But... it's incredible, isn't it?" She looked torn between elation and disbelief. "He's _dead. _You killed him."

"I didn't kill him, really," said Harry uncomfortably. A little colour rose in his cheeks. "I only Disarmed him..."

"Well, technically, yes. But _technically_–"

"No, Hermione," he cut her off, "_I _didn't kill him. We all did it, together." He tried a smile which turned out rather like an awkward grimace. "Without you and Ron, he wouldn't have died. _We _did it."

Hermione's smile was more convincing. "You know this is exactly why Rita Skeeter needed to use that Quick-Quotes Quill when she interviewed you – you're entirely too humble to be a proper hero, Harry."

He did not know how to respond to that and so, after a moment of silence, she went on, her smile fading rapidly, "So I... I thought I should talk to Kingsley... about... about my parents, you know." She traced the faded pattern embroidered in the bedspread with a forefinger. "I really miss them."

"Oh, yeah." He had completely forgotten about Mr and Mrs Granger and now he mentally kicked himself. "I'm sorry, Hermione, I should have asked..."

"It's OK," she said quickly. "I just want them to come back, too..." There was an anxious gleam in her eyes when she looked up. "Do you think I could trouble Kingsley with that? I mean, seeing as he's Minister for Magic now and all, but maybe he could find someone to...to..."

"Someone in Australia who could restore their memories and send them back?" Harry finished for her.

She nodded. "I'd like that."

"Sure he can," said Harry confidently. "You helped kill Voldemort, you're a hero."

It had the desired effect: Hermione's lips twitched into a smile. "Right."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while before Hermione spoke again, tentatively. "And what about Ginny?"

He could tell she had aimed for casual but she did not really succeed. With a sigh, he leaned back against the wall. "What do you mean?" he asked, though he already knew what was coming.

"Well... I thought you two were maybe going to...?" She bit her lip and the sentence was left hanging in the air between them.

"Yeah... I thought so too. It's just..." It was Harry's turn now to pick at the bedspread. "I wanted to, you know. I broke up with her because we were going on the Horcrux hunt and because I thought she'd be safer if she weren't Harry Potter's girlfriend..." the word felt foreign on his tongue, "but now I really don't know. It's like I don't know what to say to her."

Hermione was regarding him with a frown. "Maybe you need some time?"

He shook his head. "I don't know, Hermione. It just doesn't feel right, I can't explain it."

"You should talk to her, Harry. She's really upset about Fred but I think she misses you..."

"She's been avoiding me..."

Hermione only raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you've been avoiding each other?" With that, she slid off the bed and gained her feet. "Do talk to her, I mean it. I think she'd like to know what you're thinking."

"_I _hardly know what I'm thinking," he muttered, but he could not argue with her when she so obviously was right.

Pretending, most likely, that she had not heard him, she gestured at the heap of sorry-looking clothes on the floor. "Make sure Kreacher gets those." Then she added, in a softer voice, "I'm going to see if Mrs Weasley needs anything."

He sat staring into the dark hallway long after she was gone. In the end, and with a huge effort, he pushed himself to his feet and tried to summon some of that famous Gryffindor courage. He failed miserably.

The feeble light the gas lamps provided had never managed to lend the house a charming air. Harry's mood sank as he climbed the stairs to the third floor. "You're being silly," he muttered to himself. "It's _Ginny_, you _know _Ginny. You _like _Ginny." Except he was not sure he _did _like her any more. At least not in the way that he _should_ be liking her. He dragged his feet upstairs, inexplicably dreading the moment he stood face to face with her.

"It's _Ginny_..._"_

"Harry?"

He jumped at the sound of Sirius' voice. His godfather, in turn, was descending the stairs, a large stack of something frayed, crumpled and paper-like under his arm. Sirius gave him a crooked smile. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"No, no it's OK," said Harry quickly. Looking up at Sirius he could not help his smile. "What are you doing?"

"Interrupting your mumblings, by the look of it," said Sirius, still with a smile playing on his lips. "But I won't keep you from yourself."

Some heat made Harry's cheeks sting. "I was just..." but he found that he did not very much want to tell Sirius about the conversation he was about to have with Ginny. He lapsed into silence, and his gaze fell on his own feet.

"Right. You do that, Harry," said Sirius. "I'll leave you to it, then."

"Yeah..." He stepped aside to let Sirius pass but his godfather had only taken a few steps before he stopped:

"Listen... I was going to, um, get rid of these," he nodded at the mass of paper he carried, "in the drawing room but, hey, if you want to join me... we could talk... Upstairs?"

Harry's embarrassment disappeared in the face of the curiosity that woke in him at Sirius' sudden... shyness? He glanced over at the door to the room Ginny shared with Hermione. He _was _going to talk to her, he really was, but this was Sirius asking and there was so much lost time to make up for. "I'd like that."

His heart took a leap when Sirius smiled. He knew he should be alarmed at how easy it was to ignore his bad conscience as he trudged after his godfather up to the fourth floor, but right now he could not be bothered. The door to Regulus' room was closed but Sirius' stood ajar. As he stepped inside his godfather's old bedroom he had a small shock. The last, and only, time he had been in here had been after Dumbledore's death and Snape, and most likely Mundungus, had searched it before him. Then it had been in complete disarray and Sirius had made no effort to clean up. Rather, he'd made an even greater mess. The bundle of paper he was carrying, Harry realised after a quick scan of the walls, were the posters of Muggle girls that had been pinned to them, having long ago lost their glossiness.

Sirius crossed the floor to crouch by the fireplace. Shoving the old posters onto the pile of ashes already there, he fished out his wand from his back pocket and directed it at them. _"Incendio._" Immediately, flames sprung up to devour the paper.

Sirius sat back on his heels and the firelight played on his face. He was still handsome, Harry reflected. Not in the way he had once been. Not in the carefree, youthful, self-confident way Harry had seen him in Dumbledore's Pensieve, but instead there was a sort of wild, rough charm about him now.

"I have to move on, Harry," said Sirius softly, still staring into the flames. "Remus is gone, James is gone... hell, even Peter is gone. They're all dead. And I was too..."

"But you weren't... not really." Harry edged closer, trying not to step on anything. The old Gryffindor banners had been taken down and lay in a heap just inside the door; where something had been stuck to them, there were large dark patches on the walls. The floor was littered with books, scraps of parchment, old quills, various pieces of clothing, something that looked like a broken Sneakoscope...

"As good as." Sirius voice had lost all of its earlier mirth. "But you're right, I wasn't dead..."

Harry swallowed nervously as he sank down beside his godfather. "What was it like... behind the Veil?"

Sirius' sigh was deep and he did not answer at once. The posters were crumbling among the flames and Sirius reached for a stack of parchments that all bore the Hogwarts seal. One by one he fed these too to the greedy flames. "I did not know myself..."

Harry kept his gaze trained on the fire, afraid that if he moved, Sirius would not continue.

"I had no body, no thoughts... no sense of who I was, or where, or why... All I knew was when somebody I loved was hurting. I did not know who it was, and I'm not sure I knew enough at all to care, but there was pain, and sorrow and despair, and I knew I could do nothing about it." He drew a ragged and shallow breath. "I couldn't help you..."

It became impossible to pretend like he was not listening to anything more interesting than the weather forecast. Harry stared at him. "But... how does that...?"

"Work?" Sirius added another parchment to the fire. "I've no idea... Everything was dark I suppose. Though I didn't know what colour was. The only times I 'came to' was when any of you suffered... There was this feeling of love, too. Only to tell me that I should be bothered by all the pain."

They were sitting so close that Harry did not have to reach out for him, he only had to lay his hand on Sirius' arm. "I love you, Sirius," he said quietly, the words rushing out of him before he could check them.

For a moment his godfather looked taken aback, an odd blend of surprise and sadness drifting over his face. Then he drew Harry into a fierce embrace that almost toppled them over. With the strong arms wrapped around him, Harry could only follow where Sirius led but he willingly settled down, leaning back against his godfather's chest. His head fell back to Sirius' shoulder and when he looked up he saw traces of tears on the pale cheek.

"Harry..." his voice was raspy, "I love you so much." Resting his chin in Harry's untameable hair, he gave a half-hearted chuckle. "Sometimes you're nothing like James, you know." After a pause he added, "And I think that's a good thing."

"How d'you mean?" The combined warmth of Sirius and the crackling fire trickled through him and it was such a wonderful feeling that it was strange to think it was here at Grimmauld Place, this house of gloom, he was enjoying it.

"Don't get me wrong," Sirius Levitated another scrap of parchment and let it sail into the flames, "you father was my best friend and we loved each other well but... Well, I don't think he would have said it out loud." Absent-mindedly, he fingered a hole in the threadbare carpet. "James is really dead... It's high time I came to terms with that. And Remus... My god... James and I were the idiots... we were the insolent gits, but Remus – he was the good one, Harry." He sighed again. "_He_ deserved to live."

Harry did not need to look up to know Sirius was crying again. "So do you."

"Do I?" There was a streak of bitterness in his voice.

Without really thinking, Harry caught one of Sirius' hands and clutched it firmly to his chest. "Yes you do."

First he thought Sirius had not heard him but then his godfather pressed his lips to his temple and left a kiss there. "Thank you, Harry," he whispered.

A wave of something warm that had nothing to do with the fire, slithered down Harry's spine. He had no name for it and it was lost too soon for him to think of one. All he knew was that he had not minded it's presence – at all.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the parchments turn to ashes, until something struck Harry, "I thought you'd used a Permanent Sticking Charm on the posters and the banners," he said, remembering trying to pry the photograph of the four Marauders off the wall on his previous visit here, deeming it was his and wanting to keep it with him on Horcrux hunt.

"I did," said Sirius. "But I made it so that it became impossible for anyone else but myself to take them down." He prodded Harry's thigh with the tip of his wand. "Why? You tried to steal something?"

Harry grinned up at him, pleased that his godfather's mood seemed to have improved slightly, and willing to do whatever to keep it so. "You think I'd tell you if I did?"

"Who's got a wand, Harry?" Sirius warned him, but the corners of his mouth were twitching. "I could blast your leg off before you could fetch yours."

"You wouldn't."

"Oh no?" But Sirius dropped his wand to the floor and tightened his hold on Harry instead. "No," he relented softly. "I wouldn't."

Harry could not remember that last time he'd felt this safe, this warm. When the last of the Hogwarts parchments – which Harry thought looked like an essay of some sorts – had crumpled and vanished among the flames, he felt Sirius shift behind him. In silence they disengaged and got to their feet, Harry's body protesting at once at the withdrawal of the source of warmth.

Sirius reached out for him but instead of touching Harry, his hand fell back towards the floor. There was an almost rueful air about him. "Bedtime," said Sirius simply.

"Yeah..." He made his way over to the door, managing to not step on anything but an old, yellowed copy of the _Prophet. _He turned to look at Sirius who still stood by the fireplace, the last of the golden light flickering across his forehead and hollow cheeks. "You're my favourite godfather, you know."

Sirius' lips curved into a wry smile and it seemed in that moment that Harry could still feel them press against his temple. "You're my favourite godson."

The last of the flames stretched confidently upwards but after a second's glory they hesitated and sank back and died. As Harry stepped out into the silent hallway, he vowed that he would never let the glimmer in Sirius' eyes do the same.

**TBC**


	6. News

Bright blessings for the Winter Solstice and a Merry Christmas to you! And a Happy anything else you might be celebrating!

**Chapter Six – News **

The next morning brought heavy dark clouds that stretched across the sky, effectively covering it from view. There was a rumble of thunder far off in the distance and the city of London prepared itself for a decent downpour. Harry woke to the same guilt that had been clawing at him for a few days now, but also to a fair amount of expectation that he could not really tell the source of. Ron had already dressed and sat cross-legged on his bed leafing through yesterday's _Prophet._

"You know," he said when he saw Harry was awake and had found his glasses. "Hermione was right. All they rant about is how fantastic you are."

Harry rolled onto his back and groaned. "You'd think they'd be concerned with other stuff..."

"You saved the nation, mate. Possibly the world."

"The _world_?" Harry shoved his glasses further up his nose.

"Yeah. Most likely the universe." Ron winked at him, "Listen to this: 'Harry Potter is a name to teach your children and your grandchildren. It is a name to remember when troubled; it is a name which will strike a spark of hope in our hearts should Darkness once more come upon us. Harry Potter is a name to comfort future generations of wizards and witches – it is a name to remember and honour for eternity–"

"Honour for eternity" interrupted Harry. "You're kidding?".

Ron shushed him. "And it goes on like that for a few more paragraphs... Now, it says _here_ (he indicated a smaller article further down the page) that you defeated Voldemort by brandishing a wand especially made for you by Ollivander who's been working on it ever since he met you for the first time in Diagon Alley, on your eleventh birthday..."

"_What?"_

"Yes, and that it is very likely that, while the Triwizard Tournament was under way at Hogwarts, you picked up a few Dark secrets from Karkaroff to better help you in your life's mission to destroy You-Know-Who."

"I didn't–" protested Harry indignantly.

"And now," Ron cut across him, "that you've succeeded at the only thing that ever mattered to you, you will probably settle down in Hogsmeade – close to Hogwarts, you know, the 'only place where you ever felt loved'; it's all very tragic – and lead a quiet life, shunning publicity but living through your memories of a 'certainly more dangerous, but undeniably more stimulating time'."

"_'Stimulating'_?" spat Harry, in a completely unintentional but not too bad imitation of Kreacher. "They call it _stimulating _to be hunted day and night by Voldemort?"

Ron pretended to check the paragraph again. "Yes."

"But only days ago people were _dying_–" He broke off, colour rushing to his cheeks. "Ron, I'm sorry..."

Ron's grin had faded and some colour had drained from his face. But he shook his head. "It's OK... really." He sighed. "I've been talking to Hermione a lot... She's good to talk to, you know, when she isn't going on about house-elf rights or homework or _logic. _Fred's really dead – hey, that rhymes – and _he_ isn't coming back." A weak smile flashed across his face. "'Fred's dead', I bet he would've laughed."

Suspecting it was really inappropriate, Harry found himself smiling, too. The first raindrops began pounding on the window and he lay listening to it for a while, trying his best to ignore the _Prophet _in Ron's lap. "So," he said at last, "you and Hermione, then...?"

Ron's ears acquired an impressive shade of red. "Yeah... didn't see that one coming, huh?"

Harry shook his head against the pillow. "You took me completely by surprise."

"Shut it."

He grinned. "Don't I have a right to know? I'm your best friend..."

The effect of Ron's glower was somewhat reduced by his wide, and slightly silly, smile. "I really like her, Harry. I just hope I don't fuck it up."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

Ron coloured some more. "Don't tell mum I said that, OK? If she hears us cursing she goes berserk. Some idiot told her this ridiculous story about some Muggles that used to wash their kids' mouths with soap every time they cursed. She says it's likely to be the smartest thing Muggles ever came up with."

"Soap?" said Harry disbelievingly. "That must have been something like two hundred years ago..."

"Yeah, well, do you think mum would care about such a tiny little detail?"

"All right," grinned Harry. "Do you reckon she knows about you and Hermione?"

Ron shrugged. "Don't know. She hasn't mentioned aunt Muriel's tiara yet..."

His words gave Harry's heart a little push and it plummeted into his stomach. "You... you think you'd like to marry her?" he managed.

"Hey!" Ron threw his hands up in a defensive gesture. "It was a figure of speech. It's not like I've proposed or anything."

"But you've thought about it?"

Ron cast his eyes down and chewed on his lower lip. His ears shone bright red again. "Yeah," he conceded after a while. "I mean, we've had this war, right? It just makes you think... What if one of us had died, you know?" He looked up, an anxious air about him. "Listen, I know we're only eighteen, me and Hermione, but I'm not saying _right now_, just that..." He trailed off, looking pleadingly at Harry.

"Yeah, no..." Harry pushed himself into a sitting position. "I get it. It's a big step..."

"It is," Ron quickly agreed. "That's why we're not taking it today, or tomorrow... or next week, for that matter." He grimaced. "I bet Hermione thinks I'm not even capable of... thinking about it, you know."

"Right." Pasting a smile to his face, Harry pushed aside the covers. He felt oddly empty. Sure, he'd considered Ron and Hermione a couple since before _they _did so, but the idea of them getting married and... settling down – having kids even? - was a frighteningly uncomfortable one.

As they trudged down the stairs sometime later, fragments of what sounded very much like an argument of sorts sifted towards them from the basement kitchen. They exchanged a look and silently crept closer. The door was firmly closed but some light and Mrs Weasley's almost hysterical voice easily drifted out from underneath it.

"...won't be going to work!"

"But Molly... sitting around doing nothing." Harry strained to hear; Mr Weasley had raised his voice too but unlike his wife, he was not screaming.

"_Nothing? _Grieving for your son is doing _nothing?"_

"...know I don't consider-"

"You'd leave your family at such a time to sort out some... some – I don't know – _idiocy_ of the Muggles... and..."

"Only for a few hours," Harry heard Mr Weasley plead with her. "Kingsley says that–"

"Kingsley!" Mrs Weasley bristled, but she sounded close to tears. "He can't demand your presence at the Ministry."

"Actually, Molly..."

But the rest of Mr Weasley's answer was lost to Harry as the stairs gave a creak and George and Ginny appeared in the semi-darkness behind them. Harry's heart sank even deeper when he saw the dark circles under her eyes. George looked pretty much the same – as though he had not slept for days – but there was a hint of his old self about him when he spoke:

"We believe Kingsley took pity on dad at last, and told him he was needed at the Ministry today," he said in hushed voice. "They've been arguing back and forth for half an hour at least. Sirius is in there now, trying to calm them down."

Harry's eyes shot towards the forbidding door. "Sirius is in there too?"

"Yeah... But whatever tactic he's employing it doesn't look like it's working."

"We thought about waking Mrs Black, to interrupt them," offered Ginny. Her brown eyes met Harry's and he smiled tentatively at her.

"It's not a bad idea," he conceded.

"No," said George, "but we didn't want to upset Kreacher. He's been looking so perky these past few days."

"Perky?" said Ron, in a voice that suggested they were not talking about the same house-elf.

George shrugged. "Less wrathful, then. Best not chance it. His cooking really has improved."

Ron was about to reply but the door was suddenly flung open and Mrs Weasley came charging out of the kitchen, her robes swirling about her. She came to an abrupt stop at the sight of Harry, Ron, Ginny and George on the stairs before her. "Oh!" She dragged her hands over her face, brushing away the tears that spilled from her eyes. Her curly hair was matted and there were angry red blotches on her cheeks and throat.

"Molly, what–" Mr Weasley appeared in the doorway with a set of blue Ministry robes folded over his arm. "Right." Glancing at his wife and then at the others, he decisively cleared his throat. "Children, your mother and I have been talking and I'll be going–"

"You won't be going anywhere, Arthur Weasley!" his wife cried, spinning around to face him. "You will be staying here and–"

"Mum, let dad leave," George cut across her.

"We'll be fine," added Ginny quietly.

Mrs Weasley's seemed to have forgotten what she had been about to say. Her eyes flickered from one to the other. "But..."

"We'll be _fine. _Go to work, dad," said George.

With a little cry, Mrs Weasley leapt for him and enfolded him in a hug. Ron threw himself against the wall to dodge his mother but many years of training had made Mrs Weasley quite the expert at catching her fleeing children. Soon, even Harry was pulled into a tight embrace and when he felt her arms around him, something in his chest that had been frozen ever since the last battle finally melted.

"Oh, Harry, dear." She smiled up at him through her tears. It did not matter to Harry that she apparently was rather at loss for words; more than anything, he realised, he had needed to know that she did not blame him for Fred's death and he thought now that maybe she didn't, after all. He felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Well," Mr Weasley beamed at them, his eyes too somewhat glassy. "I'll be off then."

The rest of them filed into the kitchen to let him pass. Harry thought he caught a look of relief on Mr Weasley's face before he was gone, but he could not be sure. Breakfast had already been served and there were plates with toast magically kept warm, a pot of tea and various lidded pots strewn out upon the large table. Mrs Weasley immediately turned her back to them and busied herself by the sink though there were no dirty dishes and Harry suspected she was trying to collect herself. Or possibly crying again.

Sirius was seated near the stove, looking weary but pleased. There was a half empty cup of tea in front of him. He smiled at Harry and pushed out the chair next to him, indicating that he should sit.

Harry happily sank down beside him, fleetingly admiring the way his godfather's dark robes contrasted against his pale skin. Sirius looped an arm round his shoulders and gave him a squeeze. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah." Harry would have liked to remain pressed against Sirius' side but must accept that this was the kitchen and not his godfather's bedroom upstairs, and that it was morning and not some anonymous hour of the night. Sirius' presence comforted him, he supposed, and just like Mrs Weasley's hug, it made him feel loved despite everything.

"Where's Hermione?" asked Ron, reaching for some marmalade.

"She said she was going out for a bit," said Ginny offhandedly.

"Out?" Ron echoed her, his hand hovering in mid-air. "What do you mean out?"

"As in leaving the house?" Ginny snatched a piece of toast from his plate.

"Why would she be leaving the house?"

"Yeah, why would anyone want to leave this place," muttered George. As soon as the words had left him, though, his eyes shot to Sirius' face, "Sorry..."

Sirius only smiled in return. "Apologise to Harry, it's his house."

Ignoring this, and rather intrigued by this tidbit of news, Harry turned, and not without a nervous flutter of his stomach, to Ginny. "Did she, um, say where she was going?"

He was quite sure that no one else noticed how he held his breath during the very long silence that preceded her answer, and still he felt as though all eyes were on him. What he and Ginny had achieved today, conversation wise, was more than they had spoken to each other in days.

Ginny regarded him intently. "No. Only that she had a couple of things to do," she said.

"Right."

Ron snorted as he drenched his toast in marmalade; there was a sort of irritated feeling about the way he was brandishing his spoon. Harry gratefully turned to watch him. If only Ron could drown the whole kitchen in marmalade Harry would not have to look into Ginny's pretty brown eyes and feel so... _traitorous. _He had never wanted to break up with her – not until now and now they were not even a couple. Which, of course was the problem. There was nothing any more that hindered them from picking up where they had left off. Except that he did not want to.

"Harry?"

Torn from his depressing musings, Harry looked up at Sirius. Years ago, Harry had understood that he would have no choice but to come to terms with the fact that he was rather short for a male, and probably always would be. That, however, did not stop him now from feeling quite like the child he'd been when he first met Sirius, the latter being both taller (even when he sat down) and older.

"You OK?" Sirius lifted a hand and brushed some of Harry's ink black hair off his forehead, messing it up just a little. The gesture was so foreign to Harry, who had spent most of his life trying to flatten his fringe in order to hide his scar (when he was not dealing with his 'life's mission' to destroy Voldemort, that was), that he almost did not understand what his godfather was doing. Even so, it was a touch that – after his initial confusion – seemed to assuage the anxious churning in his stomach.

"Yeah." He wished Sirius would do it again but his godfather fished out his wand and Summoned a cup of tea for Harry instead.

The ate in silence; the only sounds were plates scraping against the worn wood or the clinking of cutlery. Ron was halfway through his second helping of scrambled eggs when the kitchen door opened and Hermione entered. She was wearing a set of robes Harry was fairly sure he knew to be Ginny's and she looked flustered and yet grim. There were still a few raindrops trapped in her hair.

Ron pointed his fork at her accusingly, but did swallow before he attempted to speak, "Where have you been?"

"In Diagon Alley," Hermione said obligingly.

Harry, who had sat through more sessions of their bickering than he cared to account for, was pleased but also somewhat surprised by her immediate response. As he watched her slide into a chair next to Ginny, he noticed that there was a light frown playing in her features, and that it was paired with a streak of sadness.

"Hermione, dear," said Mrs Weasley weakly, "have some breakfast, won't you..."

But instead of answering, Hermione glanced around the table. She seemed to draw a deep breath and then she said, "There's going to be a funeral."

The silence that followed was so dense that Harry was momentarily tempted to try and reach out to touch it. A funeral. Of course there would be a funeral. Something very cold wrapped around his heart.

"It's to be held in Hogsmeade next Friday," continued Hermione in an odd voice Harry had never heard before. She sounded a little afraid and almost apologetic. "That's in a week's time," she added quite unnecessarily.

"Oh." Mrs Weasley clasped a hand to her mouth and tears welled up in her eyes.

George's face was blank but both Ginny and Ron were staring at Hermione with slightly puzzled expressions. Harry chanced a glance at Sirius. His godfather's jaws had tightened and he was gripping his fork so hard his knuckles had whitened.

"Why Hogsmeade?" asked Ginny finally.

Hermione shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. It's close to Hogwarts..."

"You don't know?" interjected Ron. "_You _don't know?"

"I don't know everything, Ronald!" Hermione suddenly exploded. Red stains appeared on her cheeks.

"Then why didn't you ask?" he demanded.

Mrs Weasley had half risen from her chair but sank down again.

"I didn't think to ask! I wanted to come back here as soon as I could to tell you!" cried Hermione, her voice breaking. "You don't know what Diagon Alley is like – the air is so heavy there one can hardly breathe. People don't speak." She turned to George, tears rolling freely down her cheeks, "There is a sea of flowers outside your shop..."

Ron opened and closed his mouth. George was looking at Hermione as though she had grown an extra head.

"Flowers?" he repeated, incredulous.

"Yeah..." She sniffed, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Loads... and there are cards too." A tiny, bleak smile curved her lips. "Although some of them say 'George' instead of 'Fred'..."

At first, Harry thought George would cry too but then he snorted. "Idiots. Fred had two ears."

Beside Harry, Sirius pushed out his chair and got to his feet. Without a word he strode out of the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him with a loud bang. There was a moment of surprise during which Harry's gaze met Ginny's and he was not sure what he saw in it. But whatever it was, it chased him from his seat and he charged after Sirius even before he knew what he was doing.

It did not take him long to find his godfather. Sirius stood, shoulders hunched, before the yellow curtains in the drawing room. The rain was battering the windows and drenching the shabby square outside. The room was gloomy and Sirius looked like a shadow in the dreary light.

Harry swallowed as he skidded to a stop in the doorway. His heart was beating madly but he could think of nothing at all to say. Sirius did not turn to look at him and he did not speak either. Carefully edging closer, Harry wanted nothing more than to comfort his godfather but did not really know what he should do.

He drew nearer and nearer, until they stood side by side. Together they watched the silvery rivulets rushing down the window-glass.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Will you promise me something?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Promise me..." Sirius sighed, "that when the funeral is over you will turn every curtain in the entire house yellow?"

"What?"

"I like it."

Harry looked up into his face, expecting the tears but not the fragile smile that accompanied them. "I promise."

He was not sure who moved first, all he knew was that Sirius' arms wrapped around him and brought him close. His godfather's dark robes were well-worn but soft, and somewhere beyond was a firm chest guarding a beating heart. Harry wished he could dive even deeper into the embrace but that would crush his glasses and possibly make it very hard for him to breathe. Therefore he wound his arms as firmly as possible around his godfather's waist, getting slightly lost in the fabric but conquering it in the end. Sirius' hands ran up and down his spine incessantly, comforting. Harry closed his eyes and for a while knew only the tapping of the rain and the flow of his and Sirius' breathing.

"I don't want to go, Harry." It was no more than a whisper. "I don't want to go to the funeral."

Harry swallowed down the lump in his throat. "We'll go together... right?"

Sirius did not answer but he buried his face in Harry's messy locks and inhaled deeply. Pressing even closer, Harry felt his skin tingle as his godfather fingered the hem of his t-shirt, at the small of his back. He felt the sensation of skin against skin but then the moment was over and Sirius' hand shot up to cup his shoulder. A disappointment he scarcely understood flooded Harry and it took him a few seconds to register that Sirius lips were pressed against his brow.

"I'm not going without you."

An hour later, when Harry passed the shrunken house-elf heads mounted to the wall on his way up to the first floor, he found himself smiling up at them for really no reason at all.

**TBC**


	7. The Witness

I'm so sorry for not updating sooner – all these holidays completely messed up my schedule. Anyway, here we are again. We're still in the build-up phase but rewards await those who show patience!

**Chapter Seven – The Witness**

Numerous were the times in Harry Potter's life when he had felt that he, for one reason or another, did not fit in; when he was a part of something that definitely concerned him but which put him in situations in which he still somehow considered himself an outsider. In name only had he been a member of the Dursley family, and even after the great revelation, he had discovered that there was a lot about the wizarding world that a Muggle raised boy such as himself did not know. He just could not get over the idea that he was some kind of intruder. This was not a feeling he enjoyed but still could not ignore as he waited for a weary Mr Weasley to answer Ginny's question from earlier.

"Well..." Mr Weasley raked a hand through his thinning hair, "because it's close to Hogwarts... where the battle took place." (Harry saw Ron and Hermione exchange a look.) "But also because Hogsmeade is the only all-wizarding village in Britain and that will make it easier for families and friends who will want to... visit the... graves."

The light from the fire danced around the drawing room. Harry, Sirius and George were seated in the sofa and Ginny had found a blanket that she had wrapped around herself before curling up on the floor by George's feet. Harry remembered another night, so very long ago, when she had sat at _his_ feet in the Gryffindor common room and it seemed to him now that the world had been a happier place then, even though Voldemort had been alive, and he had thought Sirius gone forever. He edged a little closer to his godfather, happy at least that not everything had been lost. Ron and Hermione were sharing one of two armchairs and Mrs Weasley had sunk into the other one. Mr Weasley was standing by the fireplace, the only one in the house that was now connected to the Floo Network.

In vain Harry had tried to imagine the upcoming funeral. Somehow they had all assumed that it would be solely for Fred but of course that was not the plan.

'A whole new section will be added to the Hogsmeade graveyard,' Mr Weasley had announced quietly. "There is not one available room left in the whole village... Guests will have to bring their own tents if they wish to stay overnight..." he continued now.

It was like a mockery of the Quidditch World Cup final in Harry's fourth year. And if he had any say in the matter, after the Horcrux hunt, he personally never wanted to see the insides of a tent ever again.

Ron, who probably shared his sentiments, gave a somewhat disgusted grunt. "Can't we Floo there?" he asked.

Mr Weasley nodded. "Of course. Madam Rosmerta has a fireplace at the Three Broomsticks reserved for arrivals only. Also by Wednesday afternoon the Portkeys will hopefully have been dispatched to their designated locations."

When no one said anything in response, Mr Weasley turned to Harry's godfather. "Now, Sirius, we've been trying to find someone at the Department for Magical Law Enforcement who might be able to express an opinion on the house... Percy thought old Butterwold might have an idea but it seems he fled the country like a coward only days before the Death Eaters took over the Ministry." Mr Weasley sighed. "At least that is what his desk shouts every time someone walks past his office. They never got along very well," he added thoughtfully.

"Mr Butterwold and his desk?" Harry heard himself asking.

"Ah, no." A bleak smile flitted across Mr Weasley's lips and there was a spark of something familiar in his eyes. "See, the desk was purchased some ten years back by Andrew Long from a wizard from Peru who had put a few interesting spells on it. The desk remained fiercely loyal to Andrew until his untimely death two years ago – eaten by a particularly nasty troll they say – when it was moved to Butterwold's office."

"How's a desk loyal to someone, dad?" Ginny cut in.

"Well, for instance, it won't accept any complaints directed to its owner," said Mr Weasley, talking a little faster now. "Once I remember dropping off a letter to Andrew from a highly dissatisfied witch who'd been illegally selling irate cauldrons – no matter what you dropped into them, the contents would explode in your face – and as soon as the parchment landed on the desk, it caught fire and disappeared, leaving a rather pleasant scent of raspberry tart behind..."

"_Arthur_," said Mrs Weasley, quite sternly.

"Oh, right, Molly." He coloured a little and cleared his throat. "In any case, Sirius, I believe the best thing you can do is to pop into the Ministry and show them that you are Returned."

"I shall have to go to the Ministry?" Sirius, when Harry glanced at him, did not look half as animated as Mr Weasley. In fact, he was looking slightly frightened.

"Yes, I think so. We've set up a small re-registration centre for those who have been labelled dead in the war but are really quite alive. They should be able to help you"

Harry felt Sirius tense beside him and suddenly his godfather's cool hand closed around his own. Through his flash of surprise, Harry tried to smile encouragingly at him, but Sirius' grey gaze was fixed on Mr Weasley.

"Arthur... is there no other way? I don't think the Ministry..." he trailed off and his hold on Harry's hand strengthened.

"It seems..." began Mr Weasley, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Well, it seems that there is some trouble with your records, Sirius. They have... not, um, been adjusted to suit your present status."

"What does that mean?"

Mr Weasley tried to exchange a glance with his wife but she appeared just as confused as Sirius. "That is... Well, technically, you are still... deceased."

Harry's mouth fell open. "But..." Mr Weasley quickly raised his hands as though to stave off an argument he knew was coming, but it did not stop Harry who could not believe what he was hearing. "How can that be?"

Mr Weasley grimaced. "The records, Harry..."

"Doesn't anybody know he's alive?" Ginny, was staring up at her father disbelievingly. She had flipped her mane of bright red hair over one shoulder and was leaning forwards.

"Not...yet," conceded Mr Weasley weakly.

"But," began Harry again, too shocked to compose a coherent reply.

"Harry, didn't you say that you met this witch–" Hermione interjected but was, in turn, interrupted by Mr Weasley:

"Now, children," he began, "let us all calm down. All Sirius will have to do is to present himself at the Ministry for–"

"Present myself at the Ministry?" echoed Sirius him, releasing Harry's hand as he shot to his feet. There was a dangerous glint in his grey eyes. "Since when has the Ministry been inclined to help _me_?"

"Sirius, sit down, please," said Mrs Weasley. "I am sure Arthur–"

"It is because of the Ministry that I spent _twelve years _in Azkaban! They didn't even hear me out before they shoved me into a cell," cried Sirius. "No one cared then so why should they care now?"

Something cold wrapped around Harry's heart as he heard the agony in his godfather's voice. In the corner of his eye he saw George shifting where he sat and he could hear Ron and Hermione whispering to each other.

"To them I'll always be a mass murderer!" Sirius rounded on Mr Weasley, causing his wife to gain her feet too.

"Sirius, _please_," said Mr Weasley, his voice acquiring an uncharacteristically sharp edge. "The Ministry is undergoing an unprecedented change..."

"A change," snorted Sirius, his lip curling. "Yeah right. A _change_..."

Harry was distantly aware of Ginny and George shuffling out of the drawing room, and a moment later, Ron and Hermione followed them, firmly closing the door behind their backs. Harry, however, was determined not to leave. He could easily see a hint of Padfoot in Sirius' features now, and it was not that of a small, congenial puppy.

"Now, Sirius, don't be unreasonable," Mrs Weasley reproached him, but she blanched at the growl that greeted her words.

"Unreasonable?" spat Sirius. "I don't care what the Ministry does or says. I don't care about the house!" He flung his arms out to indicate his surroundings. "I don't care about the money! All I want is for–" He spun around but the very second his stormy grey eyes met Harry's he fell silent.

Sirius was breathing heavily, his chest heaving, and his dark hair fell in tangles around his face. His lips were slightly parted and some colour stained his cheeks. A tingle raced across Harry's skin and he shivered at the sight before him.

"All I want..." tried Sirius again, his voice hoarse and low now, but also this time he failed at completing his sentence.

Harry swallowed. There was an urgent longing creeping forth from some hidden place deep within him, screaming at him to get up and wrap his arms around his godfather, but he remained in his seat unmoving.

"Of course, Sirius..." Mrs Weasley's voice had turned gentle and almost did not manage to break the spell. "Of course, we all want Harry to be happy..."

Confused, Harry tore his eyes away and watched how a flustered Mrs Weasley awkwardly patted Sirius' arm. A wave of jealousy so strong that Harry was sure it had no counterpart nearly knocked him over. _He _should be the one to comfort Sirius, not Mrs Weasley, not anybody else. For a moment, this new sensation completely blocked his vision but when it cleared she had stepped away from Sirius and was standing by her husband again.

_You're going mad, _Harry told himself. _It's Mrs Weasley – Ron's mother – she's not... _But what was it that Mrs Weasley was not? _Interested? _He stared at Sirius and knew a stab of fear. What if his godfather...

"Harry, dear," said Mrs Weasley, her gaze flickering back and forth between her husband and Sirius, "why don't you come with me to the kitchen?"

But Sirius shook his head. "Forgive me Molly... Arthur... I never meant to..." he began, but in a strained voice Harry was not fooled by. He let his shrug complete his sentence for him. "I need to speak with Harry alone... We'll see you at dinner."

Mrs Weasley opened her mouth to protest but her husband put an arm around her shoulders and nodded curtly at Sirius. "Later, then."

They left behind an oppressive silence. Harry found that he lacked the courage now to look into Sirius' face, and the latter said nothing for a long while after the door had swung shut with an eerie finality behind Mr and Mrs Weasley. It was as though something had changed, even if Harry could not say for certain what had indeed transpired between them all. He sat staring at his own knees, silently begging Sirius to speak first. The rain was still pounding against the window and, by the sound of it, the wind had picked up. Harry shivered where he sat.

When Sirius with a soft sigh sank down beside him, he did not move. "Listen, Harry, I... I'm sorry... You didn't need to hear us argue."

A sudden, irrational wave of anger caught Harry off guard and he could barely restrain himself when he spoke. "I'm not a child, Sirius. I don't need to be protected! I know people argue."

"Of course you do," his godfather quickly agreed. "Of course. But–"

"But what?" snapped Harry. The image of Mrs Weasley's hand on Sirius' arm would not go away, no matter how hard he tried to push it aside.

"Well... But nothing, really..." said Sirius miserably.

Harry finally looked up at him and caught the regret and confusion in his godfather's face. He wanted to apologise for his small outburst but no words would come to him. Instead, when Sirius lifted a hand and cupped his shoulder, he only gave an undecipherable grunt.

"I am not trying to protect you," said Sirius gently. "I just think you deserve some peace and quiet after... all that's happened."

"Maybe I don't want some peace and quiet," countered Harry, perfectly aware that he was not making any sense but only being obstinate.

The softness in Sirius' eyes would not be intimidated, however. "Come here," his godfather said simply and with a smooth move, had Harry pressed against him in a very welcome embrace.

They curled up together on the sofa, making themselves as comfortable as was possible, half sitting, half lying down. Harry lay with his back against Sirius' chest and with his thoughts swirling. After a while, he screwed his eyes firmly shut and twisted around as much as the limited space allowed so that he might bury his face in his godfather's robes and breathe in the somewhat dusty scent that still clung to him. Hesitantly, Sirius' hand wandered up to his face and stroked his cheek, and then fingered his glasses. When Harry did not protest, Sirius gingerly slipped them off him and deposited them on the coffee table.

The anger dissipated and was replaced by a kind of feeling Harry had never before experienced. He did realise that maybe this was not how your average godson and godfather spent time together, and yet he could not for his life see what was wrong with him lying so close to Sirius that the other man's breathing could have been his own. A warm, heavy sensation was working its way through his body, making him yearn for further closeness, making him wish for even greater reassurance that Sirius this time would truly stay with him. He shifted and pressed even harder against his godfather, startled out of his desire for comfort when he thought Sirius gasped. This, however, made no sense to him because the other man's hand had drifted down to his belly and was holding him firmly in place; and so Harry felt himself relaxing at last and let the world slip from his grasp...

"Master Harry Potter?"

Somewhere between the land of dreams and the waking world, Harry frowned at the call. He was warm and safe and no matter how many Death Eaters somebody needed him to kill because these had broken into the Three Broomsticks to register Lord Voldemort as a fireplace, he would not leave his bed.

"Harry Potter?"

It sounded like a toad croaking but surely Voldemort had a snake with him? Or was it a troll that had put Mr Weasley in that cauldron...?

"_Harry Potter!"_

A deafening crash stabbed the air and with his heart pounding, Harry shot up from his bed, which turned out not to be a bed at all, and found that the world was a perfect blur. A part of his mind registered that his t-shirt had ridden up in his sleep and that Sirius' hand had lain pressed against his skin.

"Master Harry Potter was asleep," the voice contemplated solemnly.

"Kreacher?"

"Harry..." Sirius also struggled to sit up, but his endeavour was no great success. "Here..." He fumbled with something on the table and then pressed Harry's glasses into his hand.

"Thanks..." He shoved them onto his nose and immediately his eyes fell on the old house-elf who was standing by one of the glass-fronted cabinets, an impressive assortment of silver cups and platters and other trinkets strewn around him on the floor.

The elf followed his gaze and gave an odd little smirk. "Forgive Kreacher, he dropped them."

Harry opened his mouth to reply but quickly closed it again. The heat of Sirius' body still clung to him and they must both look a mess. Colour crept over his cheeks. He had needed Sirius' closeness so badly but he had not meant for anyone else to see them. He swallowed hard and wished he would stop blushing. "Um, it's OK."

Kreacher was staring intently at them both and his smirk would not be wiped from his ugly face. "Thank you, master," he said almost breathlessly.

"Um... Harry..." Sirius shifted behind him. "Could you..."

"Oh, right." He clumsily scrambled away from his godfather. He tried to avoid looking at Sirius because he did not want him to spot his discomfort but it seemed the other man was too busy unfolding himself to inspect him any closer.

Harry tugged at his t-shirt to get it to cover up the spot where Sirius' hand had rested on his belly. The patch of skin now felt unnaturally cold.

"Kreacher did not mean to disturb Harry Potter and... Mr Black," ventured the elf with a disgusted glare at the latter.

"Then why did you?" growled Sirius. He was dragging his fingers through his messy black hair and sending the elf an equally hostile glare in return.

Krecher's smirk turned ingratiating. "It is the duty of a good house-elf to inform his master that dinner is ready."

Sirius grunted something in response and Harry made to speak before another discussion exploded into an argument, but Kreacher was the faster one:

"Perhaps Mr Black would have preferred Kreacher to send one of the Weasleys instead..."

It was as though somebody had poured a bucketful of cold water down Harry's back. Mrs Weasley who had never been particularly fond of Sirius would surely have thrown a fit if she had caught them thus entwined on the sofa. Not that there had been anything improper about it, Harry firmly told himself, but even so...

Determinedly, he pushed the thought aside and shook his head, "Thanks, Kreacher," he said in a voice he deemed was steady enough.

"Master." The elf performed one of his awkward bows which always gave the onlooker the impression that it caused him more pain than pleasure, before he disappeared with a _crack. _

"So dinner, yeah?" Harry hastened to say before a new heavy silence settled. He glanced over at Sirius and found that his godfather's usually pale cheeks were flushed.

"Right... You go ahead, Harry. I'll be right there."

Frowning, Harry tried to catch his eye, but Sirius kept staring stubbornly at the opposite wall where the Black family tree hung. "You OK?"

Sirius nodded curtly. "Yeah, I just need to, um, sort something out."

Harry leaned a bit closer, worry trickling through him. "Are you sure you're OK? Is there anything I–"

"No, Harry," Sirius cut across him rather harshly. His eyes were oddly bright, Harry saw now. "I'm fine. Go down to dinner."

"But..."

"_Go_."

For a moment, Harry did not understand him. Then rejection swept down upon him and his heart sank like a stone in his breast. Sirius' face was unreadable when he chanced a last glance at it. Harry stumbled to his feet, feeling unwanted but not brave enough to ask again. He could not remember the last time after the events in the Shrieking Shack – if there had ever been one – that his godfather had spoken so unkindly to him. Sirius said nothing either as Harry picked up his wand from the coffee table and stored it in his back pocket, or when he hesitated by the door and bent down to pretend to tie a shoelace that was already tied.

In the end, there was nothing else for Harry to do but leave. He stepped out into the deserted and dimly lit hallway and carefully closed the door behind him, all the while wishing he could access some of that rage from earlier. Then he could have slammed it shut instead. But he was not angry. He was confused, lost and very, very lonely.

**TBC**


	8. More Than Two is a Crowd

To all of you who leave anonymous reviews: thank you so much! I can't get back to you but please know that your kind words always make me really happy.

And to answer Ms-Trixie's question left in her review: no, we won't be seeing anything from Sirius' (or anyone else's) point of view. I want you all to suffer a bit and showing you what other characters are thinking would be spoiling the fun! ;)

**Chapter Eight – More Than Two is a Crowd**

Dinner had been a most uncomfortable affair. Ginny and George had not said one word respectively, and after a sufficient time of constant glaring on Ron's part, Hermione had dropped her act and her stumbling efforts at polite and meaningless conversation with Mrs Weasley who only nodded now and then, and patted her hand a couple of times. Mr Weasley had found a copy of the _Evening Prophet_ and had disappeared behind it. Under the front page headline (_Ministry rises from its ashes?) _there was a large picture of Kingsley standing quite still and, with an almost regal air, turning his head from side to side occasionally. He seemed rather unimpressed by whatever he was looking at.

Harry had just poked his cold potatoes with his fork for the millionth time without succeeding at making them look any more appetising when the door had opened and Sirius had entered.

Harry's treacherous heart had taken a flight, if not for the heavens, at least for the ornate (and dusty) chandelier that hung from the ceiling. It soon regretted its adventure, however, because Sirius could just as well have entered an empty room. He did not with one look or word, or any type of sign at all, acknowledge the others. Harry's heart had brutally collided with the stone floor and had lain there aching for as long as it took Sirius to finish his meal and leave, which thankfully was not an unnecessarily drawn-out process.

Now Harry, together with Ron and Hermione, had taken refuge in his and Ron's bedroom on the second floor. No matter how hard he tried, Harry could not get the image of Sirius' face out of his head. 'Upset' did not even begin to cover the mess of emotions Harry had seen there. No, if it made any sense at all, 'tormented' would be a better way to describe him. This made it none the easier on Harry who, for the life of him, could not understand what had provoked such a strong reaction in his godfather.

What was even worse – almost – was that he did not feel very comfortable asking Ron and Hermione for advice since '...and then I, um, sort of fell asleep... there. Well, we both did, I guess, and Kreacher found us...' was the only way to describe what had happened and that particular phrasing did not exactly compliment his intelligence. Besides, the more he pondered it, the more he felt inclined to wonder if maybe, just maybe, there had indeed been something odd about it all.

"So, when d'you reckon they'll do it?" Ron sat cross-legged on his bed with his back against the wall and was inspecting the remnants of a Chocolate Frog he had allegedly found on the bottom of the nearby closet.

Harry shook himself and tried to focus. "Sorry, who?"

"Mum and dad, of course. I think they want to leave. The question is how soon..."

"Leave?"

Ron frowned at him. "Go back to The Burrow. What's up with you, mate?"

"Nothing," he said and tried a careless shrug, which proved tricky when you sat hunched over.

"Harry, are you OK?" Hermione had been throwing him worried glances ever since Sirius left the kitchen.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You don't look it," said Ron obligingly. "Hermione do you think it's safe?"

"You're not helping, Ron," she said. "Obviously Harry is not fine, are you, Harry? And what is or isn't safe?"

"I'm OK," said Harry, quite aware of the fact that he had never been a very good liar. "Ron, your parents want to go back to The Burrow?"

"Eating this, of course!" Ron waved the crushed Chocolate Frog in its soiled wrapping before Hermione's nose. "Yeah," he said then with a nod in Harry's direction, "I think they want to go home."

"You're going to eat _that_?" said Hermione, with a disgusted expression.

"It's chocolate," said Ron as if that settled it. "Not that they've said as much," he added, "but they've never been very fond of this house. Well, not mum anyway."

"She never liked Sirius much either..." mumbled Harry.

"Harry – oh, that's disgusting, Ron! – did you and Sirius have a fight?" Hermione deliberately turned away from Ron as he meticulously dusted off the now revealed chocolate. "You didn't say a word to each other during dinner and, well, he looked really upset... And frankly, so do you."

Harry sighed. This was the downside of having intelligent and perceptive friends. His eyes fell on Ron grinning at the frog. Well, one perceptive friend at least. "It was... a bit weird," he conceded weakly.

"How do you mean weird?" said Hermione. "I mean, we all heard Mr and Mrs Weasley and Sirius arguing but I didn't know he was angry with you..."

"He wasn't angry with me!" said Harry quickly. Then his shoulders sank. "Not at first, he wasn't..."

A look of concern he had seen too many times before settled in Hermione's features. "What happened, Harry?"

"I don't know..." He dropped his gaze to the ancient bedspread. "Listen, I don't want to talk about it, OK?"

He could feel her eyes on him but was very grateful, in the end, when she only said, "All right. Just... if you do, we're here for you, right?"

"Hermione, you want any?" Ron was offering her the last, matted remnants of chocolate to her with a devilish glint in his eyes.

She batted away his hand in disgust. "You don't even know if it was you who got that frog in the first place! _Or_ when. It could have been _years _ago_."_

"So what?"

"Hey!" Harry broke in before Hermione could answer. "What is this about The Burrow?"

With a grin aimed for Hermione, Ron popped the piece of chocolate into his mouth. "Your loss," he said around it. But when he had chewed and swallowed, his face fell a little. "Well, seems like they're ready to leave. I'm pretty sure Ginny and George will go with them... and I'm not sure I'll have a say in the matter."

Harry contemplated this. The argument with Sirius aside, he could see why Mr and Mrs Weasley would want to return home.

"I think mum's expecting you to come with us..."

"What?" Harry looked up at Ron. "But I... I can't leave Sirius all alone."

"That's what we figured," said Hermione softly. "But if you two aren't getting along..."

"We are," Harry cut across her. "It was just... a bit of a misunderstanding, yeah?" He suddenly frowned. "Wait... what are _you _going to do?"

Her cheeks coloured a little and Harry thought she looked a bit guilty. "I was thinking I would... leave, too," she said. "I could stay with Ron's family for a while, until my parents return from Australia. Not that we know when that's going to happen..."

"Didn't dad say that they had found somebody at our Ministry who knows somebody at the Australian one?" asked Ron.

"No," said Hermione tersely, "he said that as soon as a new head of the Department for International Magical Cooperation has been appointed, the issue can be looked into."

"Right... Well, that's what I meant."

Hermione ignored him and turned to Harry instead with a pleading look in her eyes. "It's just..."

"No, I understand," Harry hastened to say. "Really, I do."

"You are going to stay here?"

"Yeah." Even if Sirius did not want him to.

"Good luck telling mum that," said Ron.

o.O.o

As a consequence of his conversation with Ron and Hermione, Harry spent the rest of the night worrying that Mrs Weasley would indeed approach him with the expectation that he would be joining them in The Burrow shortly, but no such thing happened. The following morning brought even more rain and Harry trudged down the stairs to the kitchen with a sort of heaviness residing in his limbs, and a pounding head.

Mr Weasley and Sirius himself were the only ones seated at the table, and though it was really Mrs Weasley he currently was most eager to avoid, Harry was not sure this made him feel any better. He wished he were invisible as he for a moment hesitated, and then, in the end, chose another seat than his usual one next to his godfather. In the corner of his eye he saw Sirius, pale and grim, staring at his teacup so intently that he might have been practising wandless and nonverbal magic on it for all Harry knew.

"Ah, Harry!" Mr Weasley laid down his copy of the _Prophet_ and surveyed him over the rim of his glasses. "Sirius has agreed to accompany me to the Ministry today to see whether something can be done about his recorded status. However..." he glanced over at Sirius, "I have a meeting at nine and cannot go with him to the re-registration centre, but _you_, Harry have not had a breath of fresh air for days..."

Mr Weasley was clearly determined to pretend as though nothing was amiss, but Sirius' sat stone-faced and silent. Harry knew a sinking sensation near his heart when he realised what was coming. He wished he'd had the sense to stay in bed.

"You don't need to fear any reporters," Mr Weasley continued, unhindered, "as none are allowed inside Ministry walls, but perhaps it would do you good, getting out for a while, hm?"

"Sure," said Harry, keeping his gaze firmly trained on the table.

"Excellent," said Mr Weasley, a bit too quickly perhaps. "Then that's sorted. We'll be leaving in half an hour."

Harry nodded at the table. "Great."

Without any enthusiasm, he poured himself a cup of tea and nibbled on some toast. The silence was broken only when Mr Weasley turned a page and Harry felt a lump growing in his throat. He blinked away the tears that, uncaring if Harry approved of them or not, welled up in his eyes. Despite long hours of agony, he had not been able to figure out what he had done that had made Sirius so angry with him. When he could not swallow down another bite he pushed his plate aside and got to his feet.

"Ten minutes, Harry," Mr Weasley called out to him as the door swung shut behind him.

"I don't want to go," he murmured, but the grimy walls drank down his words and he supposed that was just as well.

Ten minutes later, he, Mr Weasley and Sirius were standing in the drawing room, each with a handful of Floo powder in their possession.

"The visitor's entrance was destroyed in the war," Mr Weasley was saying, as if he were beginning a lecture, "and though they were still functioning when it was over, nobody was very keen on using the toilets to flush themselves into the Ministry any more, if they could avoid it. Therefore you can travel by Floo powder _if_, and only if, you know the password."

"Password?" Harry looked at the small heap of glittering powder in his palm.

"Yes," said Mr Weasley. He was wearing his blue robes and had a stack of parchments under his arm. "As always, one needs to state one's destination upon stepping into the fireplace, but the second you catch sight of the Ministry fireplace, Harry, you must speak the password in order to be brought through."

"What happens otherwise?"

"If you don't, you'll end up here again. Nothing worse than that, but after three failed attempts, the fireplace you travel from – this one, in this case – will be disconnected from the Network."

Harry did not dare to look at Sirius. Since his godfather was asking no questions, he assumed Mr Weasley had told him all of this already. "What is the password?"

Mr Weasley glanced around the room as though he expected a revived group of Death Eaters to be reclining in the sofa and the armchairs. His voice dropped to a whisper, "Between eight and ten today it is 'tambourine'."

"'Tambourine'?"

"Yes, yes..." Mr Weasley looked slightly uncomfortable. "Apparently they're going for cheerful."

"Er... right."

After another precautionary glance around the room, Mr Weasley straightened. "Are we ready, then? I'll go first, shall I?"

Without further ado, he tossed the powder into the fireplace, stepped into it and said aloud, "The Ministry of Magic." He was gone in a rush of emerald flames.

Harry swallowed but found that his feet were glued to the floor. Beside him, Sirius did not say a word.

"So," Harry forced out, "do you want to...?"

"Harry..."

Sirius had spoken his name very quickly and very quietly, but there was something in his voice that made Harry's heart lurch. When he finally found the courage to look into his godfather's eyes they were pleading with him. "Yes?"

"I'm..." Sirius swallowed, too, but no more words came.

Disappointment washed over Harry. He tore his eyes away from Sirius' face. "Mr Weasley is waiting." Not stopping for a reply, he tossed the Floo powder onto the flames, pushed himself into the fireplace and let the green fire whisk him off.

According to Harry, travelling by Floo powder was the next best thing to flying a broomstick. It made you slightly nauseous, yes, and if you lost your balance upon arriving you were covered in ash, but at least it did not come with that horrid jerk behind your navel that Portkeys were known for, and you were spared the unpleasant sensation of being pushed through a tight rubber tube which always assaulted you when you travelled by Apparition.

As soon as the Ministry fireplace he was headed for appeared before him he cried out 'tambourine' (thinking that if it had not been for the whole thing with Sirius, he might have had a hard time keeping a straight face) and soon found himself stumbling out into the Atrium.

"There you are!" Mr Weasley grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the fireplace. "I was beginning to think you'd lost your way!"

A steady flow of wizards and witches were wandering out of the row of fireplaces that lined both sides of the Atrium. _The Atrium_, Harry thought, and his gaze wandered over the walls and up to the ceiling where once golden symbols had swum in a sea of peacock blue. Now it was a dull and dark bluish-grey and there was no sign of any symbols. There were signs of combat everywhere, however: the stone had cracked where curses had hit it, and there were a few deep holes in the wooden floor. But, as he discovered to his relief, the awful 'Magic is Might' statue, put in place by the Death Eaters and their followers to establish the superiority of the wizarding kind over the Muggles, was now gone.

"Ah, Sirius!" Mr Weasley spun round. "Over here!"

Even in a crowd such as this one Harry thought that his godfather stood out. He was far from the handsomest wizard but there was something about him that made you want to look again. It was probably not for this reason, however, that Sirius now pulled his hood down over his face. Harry suddenly wished he had one too but as he glanced around it seemed most people were too busy to take notice of him.

"Over here! Oh, look at the time!" Mr Weasley stepped aside to let a witch with a flock of orange birds squawking at her pass.

Harry followed his gaze to a large and severely battered clock that hung above the security desk. It was already five to nine but this was all he had time to register before an elbow hit him hard in the ribs and he staggered backwards a few steps, bumping into someone else.

"Hey!" Sirius' hands on his shoulders steadied him and the burning pain was somewhat lessened by the flash of worry in his godfather's eyes. "You OK?"

"Yeah..." For a moment it seemed to Harry that the noise dimmed to a mere background buzz, and he dared a small smile. "Thanks."

Sirius opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Mr Weasley, "Harry, Sirius, come on now! To the lifts!"

Before Harry could say what had happened he was coaxed to follow the steady rhythm of the crowd, moving steadily away from the fireplaces. Passing the empty security desk, he looked up at Mr Weasley questioningly. "But don't you –"

"The password, Harry, remember?" said Mr Weasley as they crammed themselves into an already quite full lift.

"Well, yes, but passwords can be..."

Sirius was right behind him, pressing against his back. Harry felt a thrill pass through him and instinctively leaned back against his godfather. In reality, it did not make much of a difference since they were already standing so close, but it did make him feel infinitely better. His argument had been lost in the general confusion but when Sirius' hand landed on his hip in an effort to keep them both steady, Harry forgot it himself.

They made long stops on every level before the same cool voice that Harry knew from before the war announced, "Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services." The lift came to a stop.

"This is us!" announced Mr Weasley and Harry made ready to push through the throng. Very quickly, though, he realised he would not have to fight to get out. As soon as the golden grilles slid apart, nearly everyone filed into a circular waiting room with corridors fanning out from it in every direction.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the largest one at the Ministry, was overflowing with people. Large temporary signs had been nailed to the walls, informing visitors of functions of the different offices, and their opening hours. Harry looked down at his worn pair of jeans and trainers and wished he had thought about dressing differently.

Mr Weasley seemed to follow his train of thought for he frowned. "We should have found you some robes, Harry... Well, it's too late for that! Now, if you both follow that corridor to your right, not the one with the jellyfish painted on the walls – we don't know who did that – but the one from which that man in brown robes emerges _just_ now – there you are! – you should find the re-registration centre."

Harry spun around and spotted the man Mr Weasley was talking about. He had stepped out of something that looked like a screen of moving water which covered the entire entrance to the corridor, but which appeared to be quite dry.

"I've got to run," Mr Weasley continued hurriedly. "I will see you at dinner." With that, he took off into the crowd.

Harry turned to look at his godfather but Sirius' eyes were fastened on the curtain of water. "Harry, I don't think..." his voice was raspy.

For a second Harry did not understand but then it hit him. "It's not the Veil, Sirius," he said, in a low voice.

"I know."

Harry bit his lip. More and more people were welling out of the lifts and very few seemed to be leaving. As they stood watching, another wizard emerged, head first, out of the water door.

"See," he said, "it's all right. You won't even get wet."

"I can't do it." Sirius had gone alarmingly pale but he appeared incapable of looking anywhere but at the water.

"Yes, you can." Harry hesitated for only a heartbeat and then closed his fingers around Sirius' cold hand. He gave a little squeeze. "We'll do it together. That way, should anything happen, we'll end up in the same place, you and I."

Sirius slowly turned to look at him. "You and I, Harry?"

He smiled. "Together." He gave Sirius' hand a little tug. "Come on."

They pushed through the mass of people hand in hand, making for the screen of water. Harry felt Sirius tense again as soon as they stood before it and he drew a deep breath. "All right? Here we go."

Stepping through was probably one of the least exciting magical experiences of Harry's life so far. The water felt more like a cool puff of air and left him completely unaffected. As soon as they were on the other side, Harry smiled up at his godfather:

"See?"

Sirius' jaws were tightly clenched and his eyes were closed. He looked like a marble statue. Harry was not given any more time to speak, however, because a bored voice came floating out to them from somewhere to their right:

"Welcome to the re-registration centre for presumed deceased wizards and witches. State your name, if you please..."

Upon turning, Harry found that it was a tiny, elderly wizard speaking; his portrait hung on the otherwise empty, white wall, and he was sitting in a patched armchair eating grapes from a bowl.

"Um..."

The wizard picked up a new grape. "Another Mr Um! How lovely."

"No," Harry hastened to say. "No..."

The wizard cracked one eye open to peer at Harry and his grey eyebrows shot skywards. "Oh my, isn't it Harry Potter! Go by a new name these days, do you, son?"

"Sirius Black."

Harry started at the sound of his godfather's voice. Sirius still looked grim, but at least he seemed to be breathing.

"I beg your pardon?" The wizard pulled out a monocle from his waist coat pocket and examined Sirius. "That's your name, sir? Very well... Which one of you is dead?"

"None of us is," said Harry.

"Then I am afraid you have ended up in the wrong place, Mr Um-Potter," said the wizard congenially. "We advise all living visitors to take their business elsewhere."

"But Sirius here is recorded as... dead," said Harry with some difficulty. He strengthened his hold on his godfather's hand.

"And you claim he is alive?" asked the wizard before he popped the grape into his mouth and chewed carefully.

"Well, he's standing right here, isn't he?"

The wizard gave a non-committal grunt before he spit out a few seeds in his hand. "I see your point, Mr Um-Potter. You may take a seat."

No more had he said that before a brilliant white light came on and the narrow corridor widened into a large room. The walls were lined with wooden chairs and there were another twenty or so people waiting for their turn. Behind a counter sat a young witch in lime green robes, and with her nut brown hair collected in a bun atop her head. Harry spun around but the water screen was gone and so was the painting of the small wizard.

He glanced up at Sirius. His godfather met his gaze and nodded curtly. Together they made their way over to a couple of empty chairs.

Together. Harry liked the sound of that.

**TBC**


	9. The Dead Man

Mhm… mhm…

**Chapter Nine – The Dead Man**

As soon as he began moving into the room Harry realised that he had been very lucky earlier to not be recognised. As he and Sirius dropped into their chosen chairs, it was as though all other visitors that happened to look their way performed a collective gasp. Instinctively, Harry's hand shot to his forehead to flatten his fringe over his scar.

"You know," muttered Sirius, "that only serves to betray you sooner."

Harry slowly lowered his hand and some heat wandered across his cheeks. "Yeah, well..." he mumbled, not too eloquently.

Sirius chuckled and pushed back his hood a little so that Harry could see him better. There was a twinkle in his godfather's eyes and it made Harry's stomach turn over in a surprisingly pleasant fashion. "An old habit?" Sirius asked him.

"Too old," said Harry quietly. He expected the familiar rush of desolation and anguish that had in some way or another been attached to his name for as long as he could remember, but to his surprise it stayed away this time. Sirius' gaze held him very softly, he thought, and perhaps this was why the stares and whispers now pushing through the room towards them did not bother him as much as they ought to do.

"Ignore them," said Sirius equally quietly and gave Harry's hand a quick squeeze before releasing it again.

Harry nodded his agreement but his eyes strayed to where his hand now lay abandoned on his thigh. He suddenly felt cold and could not help but to wish that Sirius' would touch him again, wrap an arm around his shoulders perhaps, or just mess up his hair, as he had done the day before in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. It did not matter if somebody saw his scar, he dared to suggest to himself. He did not mind complete chaos. That was a price he was more than willing to pay if he knew for certain that Sirius cared for him and wanted to be near him. But as the large eyes of a tall witch with the curliest hair Harry had ever seen shamelessly bore into him strode past them, he lost some of his determination and had to reconsider his bold assertion.

The minutes dragged by and neither Harry nor Sirius said another word as the witch in the lime green robes called the visitors one by one to the counter. The room had a sterile feel to it and, try as might, Harry failed to make out any light source; in the end he came to the conclusion that it had to be the walls themselves that gave it off.

It was not before the whispers gradually died out around them that he took notice of the awkward tension that was slowly building instead, and he shifted restlessly in his seat. The thickening silence made his skin prickle and he shivered, regretting that he had not brought a jumper. The room was now so quiet that it was easy to overhear the sometimes lengthy debates and arguments that broke out between the witch and one of the visitors, but Harry did his best not to listen. He was not very interested in others' business – all he wanted was to see Sirius' records adjusted and then Floo back home.

They waited and waited until at last:

"Sirius Black!"

Too late did Harry come to realise just what might happen when the despised and reviled name of a convicted mass murderer rang out among the assembled people. If the reaction to Harry's presence had been a kind of unforeseen surprise, the already heavy air was now stabbed with pure terror. As though they were all part of a well-choreographed dance, every witch and wizard present now began scanning the room frantically while taking a couple of precautionary steps back.

"Sirius Black?" In return, the witch behind the counter was leaning forwards, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the room was quickly filling with fear, and once again, rushed murmurs and whispers.

Some people began moving warily towards the haze of white light that was the only indication of an existing exit. A wave of rage pushed Harry to his feet at the sight. "Come on," he told Sirius who was still seated. His voice sounded strained in his own ears and it seemed to echo uncomfortably around the room.

His godfather reluctantly rose and all the modest mirth and the flash of confidence from earlier were completely erased from his features. "Harry..."

"We're going to do this," Harry told him sternly. "Come on."

He grasped Sirius' hand but practically had to drag him across the floor. The whispers wrapped around them as they walked. The idea that Harry Potter was in the company of the man that had killed his parents, _and _looked as though it was of his own free will, too, seemed almost too big and gloriously terrible to fully comprehend.

"His name was cleared," muttered Harry under his breath, all too well aware that in the face of Voldemort's more official return two years earlier, not many headlines concerning Sirius' innocence had made it through the raging hysteria that had been the media reports.

When they were only a few feet away from the counter a man in heavy dark robes broke free from a small knot of people that had formed near the wall. He, too, had pulled his hood over his face so that his face was well hidden. Harry saw him first in the corner of his eye, but suddenly the man was rushing towards them, and before Harry could swerve – indeed even before the idea had crossed his mind – the man drove his own weight between Harry and Sirius so brutally that their hands flew apart and Harry's wrist was twisted into a cruel angle. As a searing pain shot through it, he heard the man's hiss, sharp and clear:

"_Traitor!" _

Sirius had tumbled backwards at the assault but quickly regained his footing. He spun around and for a blurry second Harry saw only the swirl of dark fabric before the man dodged any hand that would stop him and made a run for the exit. In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

For a moment nothing happened. Harry stood cradling his aching wrist with his thoughts tumbling over themselves in his head in their hurry to make sense of what had just happened. It was not until he had remembered to breathe again that he realised that Sirius had not moved an inch either. Confused, he looked up at his godfather. Used as he had been to Sirius' impulsive nature and – on occasion admittedly reckless behaviour – he guessed he would have expected him to race off to confront their attacker. But his godfather stood quite still, staring at the white mist without a single trace of anger or indignation to be found in his face.

No one else had moved either. Harry swallowed. These people showed no sign of wanting to help either party. He looked again at his godfather. "Sirius?"

It was like watching a statue awaken. Sirius slowly shook his head and let out a sigh, his shoulders dropping as it left him. "I shouldn't be surprised..." he mumbled. Then there was a flash of life in his grey eyes and he turned to Harry. "Are you OK?"

"Well..." He grimaced as he tried to flex his fingers. "I guess it kind of hurts..."

Sirius' brow furrowed as he prodded Harry's wrist with gentle fingers. "Let's go... we can come back another day..."

"No," Harry cut across him. "No, we can fix this later... Or Hermione can, I think." Deliberately he turned from Sirius, only to keenly feel the loss of connection as his godfather's fingers slid off his skin. Pulling himself together, he strode over to the counter where the witch in her green robes sat staring at them both. "Um... we're here to change Mr Black's records. His status..."

Her smile was somewhat unsteady. "Oh, yes, of course..." She glanced around the room where people had begun whispering again, making no effort to hide their pointing and nodding at Sirius. "My apologies, Mr Potter..." with a casual wave of her hand she indicated the scar on his forehead and thus explained why she knew him by name, "emotions tend to run a little high around here." The more she talked, the more businesslike she became.

Harry chose not to answer this. Only a week ago he would have charged after their attacker without second thought but he was so sick and tired of fighting that he preferred his current, rather unbalanced, state. Sirius was still a few paces behind him and Harry turned to beckon him closer. Very grudgingly, Sirius complied.

The young witch's eyes narrowed as she beheld the man that a few years back, before the return of Voldemort, had been the most feared man in Britain. "Mr Black, then, I presume." It was more of a statement than a question.

Sirius' hood had fallen back completely now and his tangle of ink black locks fell around his gaunt face. "Yes," he said simply.

She nodded curtly and with a flick of her wand, a high stack of parchments replaced another before her. "Sirius Black..." she repeated slowly, scanning the topmost one, "who is dead, yes?"

"Right, well..." Harry threw a cautionary glance at his godfather whose expression was unreadable. "He isn't really. That's why we're here. To show you he... isn't."

"According to our records, Mr Potter," the witch said, "Mr Sirius Black, eldest son of Orion and Walburga Black, is indeed deceased."

"Well, yes. But he is alive now." Harry felt a stir of heat in his cheeks. "He's been Returned."

"Returned?" the witch echoed him questioningly. "How do you mean returned?" She eyed them both, disbelief clearly written across her face.

"To life," said Harry. He nodded at Sirius. "He's right here, as you can see."

The witch's brown eyes – disturbingly reminiscent of Ginny's – fastened on Sirius. "Yes, Mr Black. One would recognise you anywhere from those posters the Ministry distributed after your breakout of Azkaban."

Sirius grunted something undecipherable in response. Harry did not know whether or not to feel affronted on his behalf but decided to look on the bright side of things. He produced a smile for the witch. "So, as you see, he's alive and it would be great if–"

"I'm sorry, Mr Potter," she cut across with a smile of her own, a polite one Harry did not very much like, "Mr Black is, according to our records, dead."

"What?" He could feel Sirius shift beside him. "But he isn't dead, he's right here!"

"Yes, so it appears," she said gently, almost as though she were speaking with a small child. "But no one can return from the dead."

Harry gaped at her. "But he wasn't truly dead! This is what this whole place is about – readjusting dead people's records, isn't it?"

"People who have been _presumed _dead, Mr Potter," she corrected him with another smile, this one bordering on indulgent. "Mr Black did _truly_ pass away in the Death Chamber in the Department of Mysteries," she said calmly, "and is still, as far as I can tell, dead."

With her wand, she tapped the topmost parchment in the huge pile beside her. Immediately, the parchments rearranged themselves so that a new one appeared on top. She held it up for Harry to see. "Right here, Mr Potter, at the very bottom of the page it says 'Status: deceased'. And, as you can plainly see, it is followed by the exact time and place of the unfortunate event."

"But...?" Harry stared at her disbelievingly. "He – Sirius – is standing right here! He's alive!" He gestured wildly with his good hand at his godfather who made a small noise of acquiescence.

The witch's smile had now turned somewhat strained. "That may be so," she said slowly, emphasising every syllable, "but as we all know, death is not something from which you can return whenever you please. Now, Mr Potter, I have other–"

"No!" Harry cried. "Don't you see he's alive? He's not dead!"

"Harry, it doesn't matter..." Sirius laid a hand on his arm but Harry shook it off.

"Yes it does!" Harry spun to face him. Why wasn't Sirius fighting back? Fighting for his right to exist? "You're here! You're not trapped behind the Veil any longer. Say something, tell her!"

His godfather's eyes were filled to the brim with dejection and he looked pale. Defeated. "It's no use," he mumbled. "They won't listen..."

Behind them the murmuring was mounting to a new level. Harry chose to ignore it. "Listen," he told the witch, "Sirius is alive. He left me everything when he, um... when everyone thought he was dead, but now he should have it all back." He could hear his own voice rising at her indifference.

"Mr Potter." she began tersely. "The very fact that all Mr Black's worldly possessions," she checked the piece of parchment she had held up for Harry's scrutiny, "were transferred to _you_, as was his stipulated will, only proves that he, indeed, died."

"You only thought he died!" cried Harry, banging his fist on the counter and making her jump.

"Mr Potter! I must insist that–"

"We all thought he died but he didn't!" Harry almost shouted, not caring whom he frightened. "I don't want the house and the money! It all belongs to Sirius!"

"Mr Black is dead." Her gaze had turned steely. "I'm sorry, but there is nothing we can do for you."

"Harry..." Sirius tried to coax him away from the counter. "Let's go."

"We're not leaving!" Harry welcomed the rage; suddenly it was as though he had someone to blame for all the horrible things that had happened, for all the death and pain he had seen since Sirius fell through the Veil. "The house and the money and the house-elf–"

"The house-elf?" she interjected and there was a calculating gleam in her brown eyes. All previous likeness to Ginny was gone in an instant. "Tell me, Mr Potter, which one of you does said house-elf obey?"

Harry silently cursed his own stupidity. He should never have mentioned Kreacher. "Well, he recognises me as his master but that's only because–"

"He recognises _you_," she cut across smoothly, and with a small smile of triumph. "Thus _you_ are the legitimate owner of the Black residence, the Black family fortune and the house-elf... Kreacher, yes? This would not be so if Sirius Black were not, in fact, dead."

Stunned, Harry could only stare at her. "But..."

"Come on, Harry," said Sirius softly.

With a firm grip on Harry's shoulder Sirius led him away from the counter and through the ogling crowd. Harry could feel curious gazes burning into his back and the eager murmuring spun around them faster and faster. For the first time in years he wanted to break free from Sirius only to scream endlessly at the witch until she saw reason but his godfather was surprisingly strong and Harry was unceremoniously dragged towards the exit. A heartbeat later, he was shoved into the empty corridor beyond. Immediately, Harry rounded on Sirius, shaking off his hand and glowering.

"Why didn't you say something?" he demanded. "Why did you just let her sit there and tell us you're dead?"

Sirius sighed and he shook his head, long, dark tresses falling around his face. "It wouldn't have mattered. She wouldn't have listened." His voice acquired a streak of bitterness. "Twelve years in Azkaban... or eternal death, they don't care what happens to me, Harry."

"But they should!" Harry banged his fist against the wall, earning himself a displeased mutter from it. "You're a person, just like anybody else!"

"I'm not... Not really..." Sirius dragged a hand over his face. "Let's leave."

Harry could not stand the defeat that radiated off his godfather. "You can't just give up! Don't you want a real life? To be respected?"

At his last word, Sirius' grey eyes shot to his face and there was a dangerous flash in them. Snarling, much like he might do in his dog form, Sirius took a few steps towards him. "_Respected?" _he hissed. "You think I don't want to be respected?"

For a frantic heartbeat, Harry hesitated. He had seen Sirius angry before and only last night a portion of it had inexplicably been directed at him for the very first time, and he had hated it. Still, it was some kind of reaction he was after. "It certainly didn't look like it in there," he dared.

"Is that how you think of me?" growled Sirius, taking another step. "You think I'm _weak_?"

Harry lifted his chin in defiance. He opened his mouth to counter, but any reply he had intended to make was wiped from his mind as Sirius lunged for him, pushed him hard against the wall and pressed their mouths together with such force that all air was driven out of his lungs. Not a single thought had time to race across Harry's mind as Sirius forced his lips to part and drove his tongue past them. Harry's world exploded. He stood as though frozen in time as Sirius devoured him and forced every fibre in Harry's body into a state of shock.

It was over before he knew it. Sirius pulled back just as harshly as he had thrown himself at him and reeled backwards. His eyes were wide and wild, and he stared at Harry for a maddening moment before he took off down the short corridor, his robes billowing behind him.

Struck witless, Harry did not know if he were breathing. He could not feel the floor beneath his feet, could hear nothing except for the blood that was pounding in his ears. He shuddered, suddenly chilled to the bone. Too late he heard himself call out, a perfect mess of panic, fear and disbelief lacing his voice, _"Sirius!" _

But Sirius had thrown himself through the water screen and was gone.

An amused snigger sifted out towards him. "My, my!"

The walls were spinning around him but Harry could at last focus on the only spot of colour in the raging sea of white that held him trapped.

The little wizard in his painting had slid off his chair and was now positively bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Surprised you, did he, eh?" In a fit of delight, he clapped his hands. "Such tempers, such tempers!"

It took another moment or two for Harry's head to clear enough for him to understand normal speech. "What?"

The wizard rolled his eyes, but the smile that followed was bright as the sun. "All bewildered are we, Mr Um-Potter? Upon my honour – _upon my honour! – _never have I seen–"

"I have to find him."

"I beg your par–" Nonplussed, the wizard blinked at him before he caught on. "Ah! Yes, indeed! Indeed you do!" He applauded this too. "Off you go, Mr Um-Potter, off you go!"

Harry spared him a doubtful glance but he took the encouragement to heart. The curtain of moving water was only a few feet away and he burst through it with the only intention of catching up with Sirius before this turned out to be only a dream or a cruel twist of unknown magic. However, as soon as he was on the other side, he was forced to slow down since the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was still teeming with workers and visitors. He pushed past them, muttering excuses and apologies as he went, his jumbled thoughts and heartbeat racing each other. Once or twice he stepped on somebody's robes and was properly scolded. He kept his head down and offered more excuses before finally squeezing into a lift that many long minutes later deposited him in the Atrium.

There was only place to which Sirius would run, Harry was quite sure of it. His godfather was not likely to remain at the Ministry for any longer than absolutely necessary and since he was still considered dead, and by a majority of the British population, a deranged criminal that did not think twice before he uttered the Killing Curse, it was not likely that he would take refuge in any public place. No, Harry had to Floo back to Grimmauld Place as soon as he possibly could.

In the Atrium a sort of organised chaos reigned. Someone had dropped a bucketful of owl droppings on the floor and a cleaner was half-heartedly flicking his wand at them to convince them to return to it. Memos flapped eagerly through the air, obscuring Harry's view as he pressed through the throng to reach the gilded fireplaces.

He was halfway there when one voice rose above all the others: "Oi! He's over there! It's Harry Potter!"

Harry's heart dropped like a stone in his breast and it seemed in the moment of complete silence that followed, that he could still feel the pressure of Sirius' lips against his own, and a single, painful throb shook him – as though he were one giant, aching heart.

"It's _Harry Potter_!"

"Harry Potter!"

It was a chorus that would never end. He tried to slide between two chatting and vividly gesturing witches but someone seized his arm and he was hauled backwards into an open space that had quickly formed behind him.

"Harry Potter!" The man that had caught him was dressed in sombre grey robes and sported a neatly trimmed moustache. He was beaming. "Just the man we were talking about!"

Harry's abused wrist was complaining loudly at the treatment and he bit his lip to keep from groaning aloud at the pain. He made to pull back his arm, but the man released him even before he had properly begun and congenially patted his shoulder instead.

"What a coincidence," the man mused, clearly content with his quarry. Then the glee faded from his face and he grew grim and austere. There was a cold edge to his next words, "Now perhaps you have a case," he said harshly over his shoulder.

Harry followed his gaze and his jaw dropped. Behind the man in the grey robes two figures huddled, both tall and pale, and both crowned with white blond hair. Narcissa and Draco Malfoy bore the looks of the emaciated, and they were both staring at the scene before them with wide eyes.

**TBC**


	10. Men and Other Men

**Chapter Ten – Men and Other Men**

"Malfoy?"

A distant part of Harry's brain noted that the strange wizard's hand slid from his shoulder, but he had a hard time convincing his eyes that they should leave Malfoy's pale face. Over the years Harry had learnt how to handle surprises but this was the third time today that he was rendered speechless and it was only half past ten. Blatantly, he let his eyes roam over Malfoy's unusually slim form and came to the conclusion that wherever he had been stashed away these past few days, it was no nice place.

As though the wizard in grey robes had read his mind, he muttered to Harry in an undertone, "Fetched them from Azkaban myself this morning." There was the faintest trace of some accent Harry could not place in his voice, but this was not what made him finally tear his stare away from Malfoy.

"What?"

The wizard offered him an odd mixture of an arrogant smirk and a disgusted grimace. "Aurors caught them outside the Hogwarts gates only hours after the battle which, I do believe Mr Potter, you know all about…?"

If there was one thing Harry did not intend, it was to present this unknown man with a detailed account of the final battle. He ignored the wizard's keen eyes on him and turned with a frown to Narcissa Malfoy. "You were put in Azkaban?" he asked, but neither she, nor her son, seemed very eager to confirm this.

The grey wizard snorted, as though he had meant to snigger, but in the last moment had decided to suppress the urge and instead reached some kind of compromise. "Mr Potter," he said in a voice that held the capacity of becoming slightly reproachful, "all members of the Malfoy family were devoted supporters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named …"

"No, they weren't," said Harry quickly, surprising himself just as much as anybody else. In the corner of his eye he saw how Narcissa's lips parted a little but still she did not speak. Draco's gaze was digging its way underneath Harry's skin, and he shifted uncomfortably, unable to stop himself.

"Surely, Mr Potter– "

A wave of irritation swept over Harry. "Forgive me… sir," he cut across the wizard, "I didn't catch your name…?"

"Oh, I beg your pardon," the wizard said loftily. "Humphrey Hoye at your service. I am – _was_, I should say, though life does goes on, doesn't it? – senior assistant, shall we say, to the late Madam Bones of the venerable Wizengamot. It is a pleasure to meet you." He did look pleased, but his smile did not reach his sharp eyes.

As they shook hands, Harry thought that even so this man should always make an effort to smile. When he did not, the cold and calculating look that hovered about him was greatly magnified. Harry wondered if he was aware of that.

"Now, Mr Potter, you were saying…?"

The crowd in the Atrium had thinned markedly and the steady stream of arrivals had all but ceased to flow. Only occasionally did the gilded fireplaces spit out a newcomer, witch or wizard, most of them dressed in ministerial blue. Harry's eyes wandered between the fireplaces and the Malfoys and back again. There was something that bugged him, something that was most definitely off. He opened his mouth to answer when it struck him:

"You are no Auror, Mr Hoye?"

For a fleeting second, confusion and surprised blossomed over the wizard's face, but he quickly arranged his features in a mask of politeness. "Ah, no. As I told you, Mr Potter, I am the– "

"Senior assistant to Madam Bones," Harry finished for him. "Yes, I heard. But Amelia Bones was murdered by Voldemort two years ago..." With a great deal of satisfaction he watched the wizard jerk at the name.

"Such a tragic event," Mr Hoye managed in a strained voice. His lips thinned into a straight line. "Ghastly..."

"Yes," said Harry. "Indeed. And you have retained your position, Mr Hoye, despite the fact that your supervisor is no longer alive?"

"It is so," Mr Hoye confirmed. He attempted a smile that turned out rather twisted. "Politics and law enforcement never rest, eh?"

"And you have the authority to, um, _fetch_ prisoners from Azkaban and escort them to the Ministry?" Harry pressed on. "You are certainly a brave man, Mr Hoye. You haven't brought any guards and yet you claim that the Malfoys are Death Eaters..."

But if Harry thought he'd struck a nerve, he was severely let down by the smirk that caught hold of Mr Hoye's lips. This time he did snigger. "Mr Potter," he began almost fatherly, "now I see what you are getting at." There was an unsettling twinkle in his cold eyes. "They are wandless, and not very talkative as you might have noticed, hm?"

Harry's gaze sped back to where Draco and Narcissa Malfoy stood still as statues, but before he could fully catch the ominous feeling that rose in him, Mr Hoye continued:

"You do not think, Mr Potter, that I would put myself in such danger as you were alluding to? No, no... A nice little dose of a particularly clever potion does the trick... Every time."

"Potion?" repeated Harry.

"Just to... take the edge off things," said Hoye almost smugly. His voice sank to a conspiratorial whisper. "Makes them a bit more compliant, you know. That one," he pointed at Draco, "spent his first two nights in Azkaban screaming like a lunatic. Or a baby, if you will. Got his mother all upset. We couldn't have that, could we?"

"You drugged them?" Harry stared at Hoye in horror and disbelief.

"Now Mr Potter, safety comes first, as I'm sure you understand."

"But that's..."

_Illegal?_

But Harry did not know what was legal or not. Perhaps if he had been Hermione, he would have had a better idea. His eyes dropped to the worn wooden floor. With painful clarity he remembered the death of Dumbledore; it was Draco's wand that had first been pointed at the old man, the already _dying _man, but no one had known that then. Except for Snape, and he had died too, at the hands of Voldemort, supported to the very end by the Malfoys.

_Almost_ to the very end.

That, Harry supposed, made the crucial difference. He had last seen the Malfoys in the Great Hall of Hogwarts where they huddled together in a far-off corner after the final battle. Harry had had too much else to think about then to care what became of them, but there were things that had happened that would never had come to pass if Narcissa and Draco had not doubted their dark mission and faltered, and thus failed.

"Where is Lucius Malfoy?"

"Still in Azkaban, where he belongs," said Hoye with a contemptuous glance over his shoulder. "You see, Mr Potter, Mrs Malfoy here has been saying the strangest things..." His eyes bore into Harry's. "She claims that _you _have her and her son to thank for your life. And when she would not be silenced, we agreed to hear her out." He did not look too happy about this outcome. "An informal hearing has been arranged for today, before the real trials begin next week."

Harry reacted instinctively. "But they're drugged," he protested, in a much louder voice than intended, earning himself a few curious glances from a group of witches a few feet away.

"The effects will wear off sooner or later." Hoye shrugged as though the matter was of no concern to him. "Personally, I would prefer later. In any case, Mr Potter, it is fortunate that we ran into you. I do really think you should know what web of lies that is being spun around your name."

Harry wondered if he were expected to thank Hoye for hauling him in and informing him of these ongoing atrocities. He glanced at Malfoy again. This was his chance to let his whole family rot in whatever dingy cell the Ministry found appropriate; any instruction or order Harry Potter passed on to the court would most likely be heeded. If Harry desired it, it would be easy to steer the judges away from the honourable path and into corruption. Every punch, every lie, every cruel word that had ever slipped past those pale lips of Malfoy's Harry could now punish him for.

He sighed. It was so obvious that would never happen that there was no point in even pretending for a second he would choose that course of action. He was undeniably too soft-hearted to let such a thing happen – even to his nemesis. The more lines he counted in Narcissa's face, and the more shadows that gathered around Malfoy's eyes, the more his own weakness for justice and fairness reminded him of his convictions.

"I will attend the Malfoy trial," said Harry, trying his best to sound as authoritative as he possibly could. "I wish to be notified of the time and place."

"Mr Potter –"

"You can reach me through Arthur Weasley," Harry pressed on. "Now I must be going."

Hoye quickly gathered his scattered wits and flashed a smile. "Of course, of course. We cannot stand around here all day, can we?" He straightened his grey robes in a fluid motion. "Good day to you, Mr Potter."

Harry's eyes caught Narcissa's for a heartbeat but he could detect very little emotion in them. His stomach turned over and he could only nod at Hoye who had adopted a grim look and pushed his shoulders back. Harry turned away from them and must force his feet to carry him across the floor. He felt sick. He had always despised Malfoy, loathed him with every bone in his body – up until the moment when it became clear to him that Malfoy was not going to kill Albus Dumbledore in the Astronomy Tower. He had had the chance, but not the guts. Malfoy was not convinced, not cruel enough to pull off a powerful enough Avada Kedavra, Harry was sure of that. He did not know as much about Narcissa, but somehow he doubted that she had been the model Death Eater wife. Sure, she was selfish and in the Forbidden Forest, when Voldemort thought he had finally finished Harry off once and for all, the mercy she had exhibited was clearly a product of her desire to save her son and not Harry. But Harry knew all about a mother's love for her son.

He had reached an available fireplace when the image of his mother and father rose in his mind, and was just reaching for a handful of Floo powder from a bowl on the mantelpiece when the memory of Sirius' kiss hit him so hard that he almost stumbled backwards.

"Fuck!" Just like Ron, his first instinct was to feel guilty for cursing. He had never been one to overdo it. That was not his premier concern at the moment however.

How could he have forgotten? Suddenly his lips seemed to burn. What the _fuck _was Sirius thinking? A completely irrational anger burst forth from some reserve near his heart. What made Sirius think he could just grab Harry and slam their mouths together as though they were actually... as though it were something _normal_? Sirius was his bloody _godfather_! And what the hell had he meant by taking off before he could explain why he had kissed Harry in the first place?

He shoved his hand into the bowl of powder and grabbed a handful. Determinedly, he pushed even closer to the dancing flames but stopped mid-step, and his hand sank back to his side. Some of the Floo powder drifted down to the scarred floor in a sleek glittering cloud. Harry himself remained immobile, staring into the fire.

Sirius had kissed Harry.

Was he really surprised? Had what happened with Sirius truly shocked him as much as it should have? For, really, it should have shaken him to the core._.. _A sneaking suspicion crawled through his mind and he felt the floor shift beneath his feet. He tried to shove it aside, to crush it, to eradicate it by simply _willing _it away but it would only settle deeper among his jumbled thoughts.

_Mum and dad_, Harry told himself sternly. _Mum and dad made Sirius my godfather and hoped he would care for me if something happened to them. They died. Sirius is like my dad. _

Only he was not. He was nothing like a father to Harry. Granted, Harry did not know too much about how fathers should be, but from what he had seen of Mr Weasley – and that was quite a lot – and uncle Vernon – which, unfortunately, was also quite a lot, and a lot less inspiring – he had come to the conclusion that Sirius was more of a friend than a father figure. Or was that something he had decided in this very moment? Did he _want _Sirius to be a friend rather than his stand-in dad?

If anything, Sirius was certainly not the bloke Harry's parents had picked out as a future... He swallowed hard, unable to finish the thought.

_Sirius is my godfather_, he told himself sternly. _He was upset and angry, and he crossed the line. That's it._

But what line? Harry was not even sure he wanted there to be a line. Crossable or no. He just... wanted to be with Sirius.

"Fucking hell!" He banged his fist against the cold gilded stone, sending more Floo powder flying through the air. "Fucking, _fucking_ hell." This much swearing, he observed on some level, was not a good sign.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_!" he added while he was at it, and was sent gravely disapproving looks from an elderly couple in flowing, matching lilac robes as they happened to pass him by.

He just 'wanted to be with Sirius'. Yeah right. Obviously Harry's brain and heart had held secret meetings when he was not paying attention, and had decided that what he actually wanted was for Sirius' tongue to permanently relocate to Harry's mouth.

"That's just great," Harry told the mantelpiece. "That's the best thing I could come up with? Kill Voldemort, win the bloody war, fall in lo– " He almost bit off his own tongue. "_Fancy,_" he corrected himself though he must force the word past his lips. He meant to repeat it, but no sound came.

Fuck, indeed.

His anger was returning and he welcomed it gratefully. It made his vision clear and his resolve strengthen. Grimly, he tossed the powder onto the flames and watched them turn a bright emerald green. Not allowing for another thought to penetrate his mind, he stepped into the fire and said aloud, "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place."

Seconds later, complete with a faint wave a nausea rushing through him, Harry stumbled out of the fire and into the dark and dank drawing room. The flames gave a hiss behind him but other than that the room was quiet. Still riding the current of anger, Harry crossed the floor and dove out into the stairway. Just as he had known earlier that Sirius would come back here, he was also quite sure of where in the house he would be hiding.

Harry rushed up the stairs, taking two at a time, not caring about the noise he made or what would happen if somebody heard him. He thought he heard a door open on the first floor but by then he was already speeding towards the third level landing. With his heart racing, he finally skidded to a stop before Sirius' bedroom door on the fourth floor.

Up here it was unnaturally quiet. The sound of Harry's harsh breathing was swallowed up by the dense air and muted by the darkness lingering in the corners. He tried to rein in his fleeing courage but it slipped away from him and floated out of reach. A sense of fear wakened in his stomach and it spread swiftly through him, making him wonder what would happen if Sirius was not here, if he had taken off someplace else... Taking a deep breath, Harry lifted his hand to knock. The door swung open without him even touching it.

There were no lights on in the old bedroom, and no fire lit. But on the bed, with his back to the door sat Sirius, hunched over, and with his face buried in his hands.

At the mere sight of him, Harry's throat grew tight and he swallowed hard. "Sirius?"

His godfather's sigh was deep and carried to every corner of the room. "Harry."

"Yeah..." Harry would have given a thousand galleons for his anger from before to rise anew, preferably to blast the roof off the house. But seeing Sirius now, sitting like a broken man on the bed, made Harry's heart sink in his breast rather than explode with rage.

Sirius heaved another sigh but he did not move. Harry carefully closed the door and another few steps brought him to the edge of the bed. He guessed he was waiting for Sirius to speak, waiting for the other man to explain. Sirius was older and – Harry assumed – much more experienced in these matters. This very though sent a wave if heat over his cheeks. Sirius had _kissed _him. Had not hugged him or ruffled his hair, or planted a peck on his cheek, but really truly _kissed _him. Seeing his godfather in his present state, however, he had a hard time connecting the kiss with the man who had delivered it.

"Um... Sirius?" The words stuck in his throat.

"It should never have happened, Harry. Forgive me, if you can. And forget it."

"What?"

Sirius did not sound like himself; he sounded as though he were reciting an old monologue. "Forget it Harry. Just forget it."

"What do you mean forget it?" Harry circled the bed and stared down at him. "I can't just 'forget it'. You kissed me!"

"I know!" Sirius' eyes shot to his face and Harry saw the traces of tears on his cheeks. "I bloody well know that, Harry!"

Harry swallowed again, trying to push past the thickness in his throat. "Why?"

"Why?" Sirius echoed him with a snort. "Why did I kiss you?"

"Yeah, why?"

Sirius regarded him for a moment before he shook his head, looking disgusted. With what, Harry could not say but it scared him more than he was willing to admit. "You haven't figured that out yet?" said Sirius. He ran a hand across his face. "You have no idea?"

"I..." Harry dropped his gaze to the threadbare carpet that covered the floor. "I just... I just want to know."

"Because I'm a fucking idiot, that's why," said Sirius. "And I wanted you to shut the hell up."

It was like a blow. Harry's body was quickly growing numb and his nod was more like a jerk of the head. He kept his gaze firmly trained on his trainers, refusing to let Sirius see the tears that were welling up in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, taking a step back. "I shouldn't have told you..."

He made to turn away but Sirius' hand closed around his wrist, reawakening the pain that had lain slumbering for the past hour. Harry gasped and Sirius let him go as though he had burnt himself.

"It's swollen," observed Sirius quietly. "I'd forgotten."

Harry wanted to say something but could think of nothing. "Yeah, well..."

"Harry..."

"What?" He lifted his eyes to Sirius' face. The other man was looking at him with such a mixture of emotions in his grey eyes that they were impossible to separate, one from the other. "_I_ am sorry..."

Harry shrugged. "I had no right to say those things to you... I get it, you were angry." With this, he actually did turn away but Sirius spoke again:

"Wait. Listen, we can't... I mean, I can't... I shouldn't have done that, Harry."

"Kissed me, yeah, I said I get it." He blinked hard, wanting no more than to flee the room.

"Don't go."

The smallest trace of anger found its way to the surface again, towing more in its wake. Harry spun around, his jaws tightly clenched. "What is it you want, Sirius?" he demanded. "First you kiss me, but that's obviously what you _don't_ want because you ran like you couldn't stand me, and now you don't want me to leave?"

The concern and gentleness were immediately wiped from his godfather's features. "You have no idea what I want, Harry," he snarled. "That much is obvious!"

"Why don't you tell me what you want, then?" cried Harry, desperate for some semblance of logic in this crumbling world.

"I want _you_!" bellowed Sirius, something in his eyes exploding. "I've wanted to fucking kiss you ever since I came back!"

Harry stood dumbstruck before him. "You..."

Sirius' face fell and he swallowed audibly. "I want you..." he repeated. "And I can never have you, and that is how it should be."

"But..."

In the ensuing silence Harry found nothing to say. He was not sure he understood; the concept was too foreign and alien for him to fully grasp, but he knew also that something of great importance had been said. He felt his knees buckle and he dropped down onto the bed next to Sirius, fishing the wand out of his back pocket before it got crushed without really thinking.

"We should have Hermione take a look at that wrist of yours," said Sirius softly, after a while.

"Something we actually _should_ do," said Harry, hearing how the feeling of emptiness that was spreading through him tainted his voice.

"Yeah..."

Sirius lifted a hand to Harry's cheek, gently turning his face so that their eyes met. Then his godfather sighed and closed his eyes. But the feather light kiss that Sirius left on Harry's brow was not nearly enough to comfort him.

**TBC**


	11. The Lunch That Crashed

Here we are again. Tell me what you think!

**Chapter Eleven – The Lunch That Crashed**

For a while, Harry and Sirius did nothing but stare out the window, at the rain which was pelting down from the cloud-covered sky. Harry reflected that his brain must be working at an extremely slow pace for things still seemed a bit unclear to him. Such as Sirius having wanted to kiss him ever since he came back, and the fact that that revelation really ought to scare Harry halfway to France (he could take up teaching at Beauxbatons and fill his mind with thoughts of pretty girls instead). The thing was, however, that he was not particularly scared. He was comfortable with Sirius by his side, breathing, and more honest and vulnerable than Harry had ever seen him before. And what was, maybe, even more unsettling was that Harry could not at all, try as he might, drag up any semblance of desire to spend the rest of his days surrounded by loads of girls, no matter how pretty and Veela-like they were.

When he could think of nothing else to do, Harry dropped back on to the bed to stare at the ceiling instead. In the corners there were clusters of dusty spider webs long since abandoned. He was contemplating whether he had the energy to raise his wand and remove them when Sirius, too, lay down and turned his head to the side so that Harry could see him properly.

"So… What did you think of it?" Much to Harry's surprise, some, if not all, of the agony was gone from Sirius' voice.

Harry frowned. "Think of what?"

He could have sworn he saw a twinkle in Sirius' grey eyes. "Of the kiss, of course."

"Oh…" Harry's cheeks grew warm as his brain charitably replayed the memory for him. "Um… Well, you kind of surprised me… I guess I wasn't really thinking very much…"

"Hm…" Sirius looked troubled at first but then a small smirk began playing in the corner of his mouth. "But you didn't throw up afterwards…?"

"Of course I didn't throw up!" said Harry indignantly. "You think I was disgusted or something?"

Sirius shrugged against the bedspread but his smile would not quite go away. "I'm a bloke, Harry, and I'm assuming – though I could be wrong – that you're not really into blokes."

A small, completely irrational, part of Harry wanted to claim that he indeed was into blokes, but that would be an outright lie so he swallowed down that reply. He had never spent time scrutinising his preferences; he had gone out with Cho and with Ginny and had assumed, he supposed, that he was into girls.

"I guess not," he said quietly, but almost reluctantly. Then he frowned. "Are you? I mean, you're…"

"Gay?" Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Check. Very gay."

"Oh," said Harry again, as the world tilted a little sideways and he tried to fit the pieces of this new puzzle together. "I didn't know."

"We never got around talking about it," said Sirius simply. "I would have told you, though."

"You would?"

"Yeah, sure." Sirius sounded very casual about it, as though it was no big deal at all.

Harry bit his lip, not sure whether it was appropriate at all to ask any questions. But in the end, after what had happened at the Ministry, he figured he had a right to know. "Did, um, does anybody… else know?"

Sirius nodded slowly. "Your dad knew. And Remus." A wholly different smile, a slightly grateful one, danced over his face, but it was followed by a sigh. "Snape knew too… actually. And Lily, of course… And Dumbledore, eh, figured it out."

"Figured it out?" Harry turned over to lie on his side, cradling his injured wrist to his chest. The sharp pain had been reduced to a dull pounding. He peered at his godfather, wondering if he should see him in a different light now.

"Yeah… In my sixth year, he kind of stumbled upon me and this Ravenclaw bloke, Nicholas, one late night down by the Hogwarts lake, you know. He very kindly ordered us back to our respective dormitories. _I _never figured out if it was a coincidence or if he had seen us sneak out of the castle."

Sirius must have interpreted Harry's shocked expression correctly because he grinned. "It wasn't that bad. We were fully clothed. Dumbledore too." He winked at Harry who wished he would stop blushing.

The idea of the old Headmaster wandering about the Hogwarts grounds undressed was not one Harry was keen on contemplating for too long, but the suggestion that Sirius might have done the same was both disturbing and worryingly enticing. "Uh, good," he mumbled.

Sirius' eyes bore into him. "Mhm."

Harry's throat had gone dry. "So," he forced out, not sure what he wanted to achieve by that. "No one else knew?" he added.

The grey gaze released him. Sirius sighed. "I went out with a couple of guys, Nicholas being one of them, but mostly I lay low. My relationship with my family was already somewhat, ah, strained, and they would have made it none the easier on me had they known I was gay… Pure-bloods are not gay, you see. We live to breed."

Harry wanted to reach for his hand and squeeze it, but he did not move. He did not know any more how such a move would be judged. "I'm sorry," he said instead.

"Yeah, well… James and Remus were supportive. They knew the truth."

"What about… Wormtail?" asked Harry. "Peter, did he know?"

At this Sirius actually chuckled. "Even if he'd seen me shag another bloke with his own eyes, I don't think he would have understood. 'Gay' simply wasn't part of his vocabulary." Sirius, too, turned on to his side and propped himself up on one elbow. He looked down at Harry. "But let's not talk about the past any more, hm?"

"But…" Harry shifted on the bed. Sirius was very close to him now, so close that he could feel his godfather's warm breath on his cheek. "But when I saw you in Dumbledore's Pensieve, you always had lots of girls drooling over you…"

"So I was good-looking," said Sirius with a one-shouldered shrug. "The less people who knew of my preferences, the better. If I had girls following me around, hoping I'd ask them out, that meant my façade was intact."

Harry wanted to ponder this, to add this new layer of information to what he had thought to be some kind of ultimate truth, but it was hard to focus when Sirius was watching him so intently. "The posters…" he said slowly, "of the Muggle girls…?"

"Oh, those," said Sirius, back to casual. "I put them up too fool my parents. And because I knew they abhorred Muggle stuff in general. Since they were Muggle produced, the posters didn't bother me as the girls didn't prance about in their bikinis." He gave another shrug. "I have nothing against women, I just prefer men."

Harry wished he could feel as careless as Sirius sounded but that was impossible. He had never really thought of himself as a _man, _but it was impossible now not to let the word echo through his mind. Did Sirius think he was a man? When had Harry stopped being a boy and had become a man? He looked up into Sirius' face, quite aware of the fact that in spite of everything, to him Sirius was still good-looking.

"So you're gay."

"Yes. Does that bother you, Harry?"

He wondered if he imagined that Sirius' voiced had dropped a notch. He shook his head against the bed. "No."

Sirius only nodded softly. He lifted a hand and it hovered hesitantly for a moment in the air above Harry's cheek before it descended to brush against his temple. Harry was barely aware of himself holding his breath. He exhaled slowly, as though scared to disturb the silence as Sirius' long fingers wove themselves into his hair.

"Nothing like James…" mumbled Sirius. His wide sleeve lay draped over Harry's shoulder as he worked his fingers further into the jet black mess of hair.

"I thought you didn't want to talk about the past," breathed Harry, as his heart picked up a faster beat.

"I don't." Sirius' fingers snaked their way to Harry's neck. "And I wish I didn't want to do this either…"

Harry's question was only a whisper, "Do what?"

The reply was barely audible, "This."

Gently but firmly, Sirius urged Harry's head backwards a little, baring his throat. Too lost in the frantic pounding of his heart to question what was happening, Harry complied, agreeing with whatever Sirius wanted him to do. Sirius' fingertips were exploring the skin hidden by the neckline of Harry's t-shirt and his lips had parted slightly. Wide-eyed, with fear now tugging at the edges of his awareness, Harry saw those lips draw nearer and nearer, little by little, as though he were watching a film in slow-motion.

He could feel Sirius' touch on his neck and when he could no longer focus on the grey eyes that were so close now, his vision blurred, and Harry's whole world was reduced to one shining pool of silver. He didn't breathe as he waited for Sirius to close the remaining distance between them, but the kiss never came. A rush of heat that was his godfather's sigh raced across his lips instead, in a cruel mockery of a what-could-have-been.

"James would kill me." Sirius' fingers pressed into Harry's skin. "I can't do this…"

Harry's lips were tingling for a promised kiss that was quickly transforming into an unattainable desire. He could not think straight, and nor could he say what was wisdom and what was folly, but one thing he knew, "My dad's dead."

"I can't, Harry…" Frustration and desperation were leaking into Sirius' voice. "I promised James…"

Harry tried to focus on his godfather's face but they were still too close. Every word Sirius spoke danced over his skin tauntingly and he needed a more solid touch than just rushes of air brushing his lips. "Please…"

But it was not working. "I promised him, Harry… I promised James I would take care of you..."

"You are taking care of me," said Harry quietly, his own determination rising in the face of an all too quickly building disappointment. "My dad is dead, Sirius. He won't know…"

Three irregular heartbeats steeped in fear passed before Sirius cupped the back of his head and drew a deep breath. In his exhale, his words were barely detectable, "Oh, Harry. I fucking promised him."

It was like a bittersweet finale to a long struggle when Sirius first kissed one corner of his mouth and then the other. Harry wanted to scream for more but lay powerless as his godfather's lips pressed against his brow, his cheek, his chin – anywhere but his lips. Harry's eyes had fallen closed and he felt as though he were being sucked into a deep, black void of rejection, which was not really rejection at all. Never before had he experienced such a bone-deep longing for a single kiss. Sirius was holding him in place, almost draped over him as he were, but still Harry was denied what he most of all wanted. He tried to turn his head so that their mouths would come together, but as soon as he moved, Sirius withdrew and came to rest his forehead against Harry's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," mumbled Sirius, and he sounded both angry and rueful. "I can't…"

Harry tried to see reason, he really did. They should not be doing this. It was wrong. And considering that Sirius was his godfather and so much older than he, it was very wrong indeed. But Sirius wasn't _that _old, a part of his mind objected. He was thirty-eight and that was not too bad.

Sirius' hair fell in waves around his face and Harry wished he had had the sense to see Hermione before storming up here because he did not think his wrist was up to some twisting so that he might tangle his fingers in those tresses and comfort Sirius where he lay. Unwittingly, his godfather solved the problem for him because, with a heavy sigh, he lifted himself off Harry and made to sit. His robes were crumpled and creased and his face was set.

Without thinking, Harry scrambled into a sitting position too, and when he was not chased away, came very close, shyly hugging Sirius from behind. As Sirius pulled his uninjured arm around his waist and threaded their fingers together, Harry knew a yearning so strong and powerful that he could barely think. It was as though this sensation chased every thought from his mind so that he should be left empty to fully _feel_. Uncaring about his slightly awkward position and his desire to remove his glasses, Harry rested his cheek against his godfather's shoulder; all that mattered right now was that he was allowed to touch Sirius and knew that Sirius wanted to touch, even kiss, him in turn.

Time crawled by in the bedroom on the fourth floor in the ancient house of Black. Time also eventually found them again lying on the bed, Sirius now curled around Harry, both of them having drifted into a light doze. Harry had kicked off his trainers and Sirius his shoes, and, if only to feel a bit more cared for, the latter had draped a blanket over them both.

Awareness first returned to Harry when a faint _pop!_ found its way into his shapeless dreams. Drowsy and disoriented he at first had no idea where he was, but then he felt the solid form of Sirius pressed against him and heard his godfather's even breathing. A sadness of sorts drifted through him and yet he was inexplicably happy. He blinked in the dreary daylight and spotted a tray with a steaming teapot and a load of sandwiches precariously balanced on top of the wardrobe. In his current position, Harry could not reach his wand and he could not see Sirius' either and so he must rely on the good judgement of the tray and hope it would not decide to take a tumble.

He was about to mould himself against his godfather again when he felt Sirius shift behind him. The older man mumbled something indecipherable and Harry inevitably smiled.

"Hm?" he offered in return.

"Hmm..." Sirius buried his face in Harry's hair and gave something akin to a purr.

A thrill passed through Harry's stomach at the sound and it took some effort to remind himself of where they stood on this issue. It was odd how his heart could feel both so incredibly light and so very heavy at the same time. "There's food," he ventured.

"Mmm..." Sirius' hand slid down to his belly and caused a shiver to race across Harry's skin. "Within reach?"

Harry swallowed, trying to steer towards safety and neutral ground. "Atop the wardrobe."

"What?" Sirius pushed himself up. "Bloody house-elf," he muttered when he spotted the arrangement. "Are you hungry?"

"Not very," said Harry truthfully. He missed the warmth that had vanished when Sirius had moved.

"How's your wrist?"

"It can wait."

Sirius seemed to ponder this and for a moment Harry thought he would get up, _Accio _the tray and send for Hermione, but then he lay down instead, his hand once more finding Harry's belly. "It's not me doing this," he murmured, as he gave the t-shirt a small tug to reveal the skin underneath.

Swallowing, Harry tried to find his voice. "No?"

"Nope." Sirius' fingertips were warm as they explored a very small patch of very unshielded skin. "Could be anyone... All it takes is some Polyjuice..."

"That's really disturbing," Harry managed, wanting to smile but not quite able to focus as a fingertip dipped into his navel.

"Very disturbing," agreed his godfather, his hand travelling upwards again, revealing more and more of Harry's belly as it went. "Tell me if you liked it."

"Liked it?" Harry found it harder and harder to breathe properly now. He shivered as Sirius traced a pattern near his solar plexus.

"The kiss."

He sounded like he was choking when he spoke, "I thought we weren't doing this."

Sirius did not exactly finish his artwork on Harry's skin; he only took a brief break, his fingertips sort of dancing in one spot. "We aren't?"

Harry had known pain all right, but this was a completely new type of ache. He felt like squirming, only he couldn't remember at all how to move. "You said..." He wished Sirius would be satisfied with this poor attempt at reasoning but his godfather said nothing. "You said you couldn't..."

"Actually..." Sirius resumed his dealings with Harry's chest, "I think I can but I shouldn't, if you see the difference?"

"But..."

"I've never been famous for my good judgement, Harry."

Harry meant to draw a deep and steadying breath to clear his head, but Sirius suddenly pressed very close to him, and left an open-mouthed kiss to his neck. "Maybe I've changed my mind?"

"But I thought..."

"I think you're thinking too much." Sirius' lips brushed his neck again and his voice dropped almost to a rumble. "Don't you want me to do this?"

To be honest, Harry did not know if he had wanted Voldemort to die as much as he wanted Sirius to kiss him and touch him right now. He was vaguely aware of nothing making any sense whatsoever; Sirius had been so miserable only hours ago and now he was quite changed, first acting responsibly and sensibly (as responsibly and sensibly as it got with Sirius, that was) but now he seemed to have decided there was no fun in that. Harry's heartbeat picked up as he must concur: this was definitely the far more exciting choice. And it was also probably one of the stupidest things he could ever agree to.

"Yes, I do," he mumbled.

"Good..." Sirius' fingertips slid over his skin, pushing the t-shirt as far up as it would go, "because I want me to do this too."

There was a heat pooling in Harry's stomach. It twined around the base of his spine and he did not know what was happening until the very moment he could feel it seep even deeper into his body, heading downwards; and he gasped when he felt his cock give an initial twitch. Squeezing his eyes shut, and with burning cheeks, Harry prayed fervently that his godfather had not heard him and put two and two together. He tried to will his body's reaction to Sirius' touches away, but to no avail. Sirius was teasing his earlobe with gentle nibbles and kisses and Harry was hard-pressed not to groan.

Somewhere between panic and ecstasy, Harry suspected that it might have been _he_ who had not put two and two together all that cleverly before. Or, indeed, that he might have neglected to do it at all. If Sirius was gay – and it certainly appeared as though he was exactly that – maybe then he expected Harry to... In his confused state, the words would simply not come to him, but Harry's confidence sped off into the unknown. And then several things happened at once.

Sirius's hand left his chest and slid to cup his hip; Harry could not stop the moan that slid past his lips, just as the tray atop the wardrobe decided it had had enough and dived for the floor. To add to the deafening crash that ensued, Hermione's call raced underneath the firmly closed, but not locked, door:

"Harry? Sirius? Are you in there?"

"_Fuck_." Sirius shot up from the bed, his hand leaving Harry's hip to cast the blanket aside. "Yeah, we're in here!" he called to Hermione in a rough voice that sounded like it had not been properly used for ages. "Just..." He cursed under his breath, rummaging around for his wand.

To Harry it was as though he had been plunged into ice cold water. He dragged himself up into a sitting position and yanked his t-shirt down, gathering more of the blanket in his lap. He was not hard, he had nothing to hide. But nevertheless he felt exposed, as though somebody had ripped protective armour that he had not known he was wearing off him. Meanwhile, Sirius had found his wand and with a jerky wave of it, he shoved the mess that had once been lunch into a corner. There was a large wet stain on the threadbare carpet where the teapot had crashed.

"Harry..." Sirius turned to him and it was hard to tell what he was thinking. He looked guilty.

"It's OK."

"We're... Listen, we can –"

"It's OK." Harry was not sure why he was repeating that but it was the only thing he could think of to say.

Sirius opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it again. His grey gaze, still carrying a trace of the desire he had known only minutes before, swept over Harry. Then he slid off the bed, smoothed down his robes and ran a hand through his hair. Harry watched him open the door and let Hermione in.

She was dressed in Muggle wear, a navy blue cardigan and jeans, and she had pulled her bushy hair into a ponytail. "I just wanted to know what the Ministry... Harry?" She took a cautious step closer to the bed. "Are you all right?"

Sirius cleared his throat. "Yeah, well, the Ministry visit wasn't much of a success..."

"What do you mean?" Hermione turned to him, brows furrowed, attention caught. "What did they say?"

Harry let his godfather speak. He had almost forgotten his hatred for Ministry bureaucracy and whether or not Sirius was considered alive by them seemed to him a small detail now. _He _knew Sirius was alive, he knew that very well, and he thought he knew enough to assume that things would never be the same again.

**TBC**


	12. Bursting Bubbles

Yes, I've been struggling _quite a bit_ with this chapter... 'Either,' I thought to myself, 'we do it this way, or that way.' I did it this way. I apologise in advance for any spelling mistakes and such – it's really late but I thought you deserved an update, so here we go!

**Chapter Twelve – Bursting Bubbles**

"And you didn't see his face?" Hermione asked for the umpteenth time while she prodded Harry's wrist with gentle fingers.

"No, I didn't," said Harry, quenching a sigh. "Whoever he was, he had pulled his hood over his face, I told you."

They were still in Sirius' bedroom. The very moment Hermione had been told of Harry's abused wrist, she had demanded to see it and so he had dutifully climbed out of the bed. However, he supposed it should come as a surprise to no one that she was more interested by the man who had caused the injury rather than the injury itself.

"I know, but I was thinking that perhaps you recognised _something _about him." There was a deepening furrow between her brows and a dash of worry in her brown eyes. "His voice… or… the way he walked or moved…"

"The way he _moved?_" Harry asked her incredulously. "Why would I remember how somebody _moves?_"

"Harry! If we hadn't paid attention to detail, we'd be dead by now," she scolded him, probably alluding to the events of the past seven years or so.

"If _you _had not paid attention to detail," he mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing..."

She gave a small huff, though unbeknownst to her, she had been paid a compliment – of sorts, at least. "All I'm saying, Harry, is that..."

"Whatever," he muttered. "Listen, it doesn't matter. Whatever his name was, he just wasn't my biggest fan."

"Nor mine," supplied Sirius from across the bedroom where he had dropped into a dusty armchair. Once upon a time, the black velvet must have gleamed in the sunlight. If any streaks of sunlight had ever made their way into this bedroom, that was.

"This could be serious!" exclaimed Hermione, obviously not very pleased with the lack of interest in the matter exhibited around her. "What if he's after you? What if –"

"Come off it, Hermione," Harry cut across her. "I'm sick and tired of constantly being on my guard, always looking over my shoulder. Just… come off it, will you?"

Truth be told, Harry wasn't really in the mood to talk about anything, from nameless attackers at the Ministry to Hippogriffs. He missed Sirius though the man was not fifteen feet away. Which only proved things were bad. He did not need Hermione's fussing and worrying on top of that. He cast around for another subject, but came up with only one.

"I saw Malfoy at the Ministry," he said.

Hermione's eyes shot to his face and Sirius shot up from his seat.

"Malfoy was there?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah... with his mum." He had not given the encounter much thought – none at all, to be honest – since he'd recalled the kiss Sirius had given him outside the re-registration office. "They'd been brought in from Azkaban."

"Malfoy was put in Azkaban?" The furrow between Hermione's eyebrows deepened further. "But why?"

"Because the Malfoys are Death Eaters?" snorted Sirius. While Hermione was looking shocked and troubled, he had adopted an expression of perfect loathing. "They're a rotten bunch."

But Hermione dismissed this assertion with an annoyed shake of her head, setting her bushy hair flying around her face. "But Draco helped us... or at least he didn't give us away; and Harry, didn't you say that Narcissa lied for you in the Forbidden Forest?"

"She did," confirmed Harry. "I was surprised too... But that's not all. They were drugged."

"What do you mean 'drugged'?"

"Well, this really dodgy bloke, Hoye, had fetched them – or at least that's what he called it – from Azkaban and brought them to the Ministry. He'd let someone drug them to make them more cooperative. They didn't say a word, just stood there staring at me." The more he thought about it, the more uneasy he felt. He should have done something right there and right then, but even now he did not know what that might have been. "They seemed frightened, though," he added thoughtfully, and not without a pang of guilt.

"Serves them right," said Sirius, in a voice that did nothing to hide his scorn.

Hermione glared at him in disgust. "How the he–" She snapped her mouth shut and colour blossomed in her cheeks. She tried again, "Why would anybody drug them? That's awful, Sirius! Wouldn't it be enough to, oh, I don't know, let them know that every Auror is keeping both eyes on them?"

"No, Hermione, that wouldn't be enough," said Sirius harshly. "They're _Death Eaters_, Voldemort's loyal subjects..."

"But Voldemort's dead!" exclaimed Hermione, swivelling around to face him properly and momentarily forgetting about Harry's wrist. "They would gain nothing by fleeing!"

"Freedom? Time to plot their revenge?" Sirius' eyes had darkened visibly, but he did not raise his voice.

"They would be hunted down and arrested," she said with confidence. "The Aurors would find them."

"The _Aurors_..." said Sirius scathingly. "Yeah, cause they're such a brilliant lot."

"Without them, we'd be dead!" cried Hermione, the colour high on her cheeks.

"Well I'm as good as!" spat Sirius. "I say drug the Malfoys. Let them rot in Azkaban! I don't care what happens to them."

Before Hermione could retort, Harry broke in, "Sirius," he said quietly, "they _did _help us..."

His godfather looked up, and maybe some of his anger melted from his face. Or perhaps Harry was deceiving himself.

Sirius spoke through clenched teeth. "You told me Draco was charged with murdering Dumbledore, Harry. And Narcissa is the sister of dear Bellatrix, the venom of Voldemort runs in their blood."

"He was charged with that mission, yes," said Harry, "but he didn't kill Dumbledore. He couldn't. He didn't want to." He had never thought he'd be defending Draco Malfoy to anyone, but now that he had no more Dark Lords to fight, this had apparently become his new pastime.

Sirius, however, was not buying any of it. "And how do you know that?" he hissed. "He's Lucius' son! 'Like father like son', isn't that the Muggle saying?"

"I don't care about Lucius, but–"

"Harry," Sirius cut him off sternly, "let the Ministry handle this! Forget about the Malfoys."

"But it's not right!" objected Hermione.

"I said I would attend their trial," Harry blurted out, only to realise that hardly made things better. "I want to ensure that they're given a fair treatment..."

Snarling, his godfather took a step forwards. "You want to...? Bloody hell, Harry, let it go! The war's over, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah..." This was the third time in two days that Sirius was angry with him. This time around, however, a part of Harry understood where his godfather was coming from, but there was also a part of him that would not so easily forget what he'd been through these past years. "But..."

"_No_, Harry!" barked Sirius. "Forget it! You've got your whole life ahead of you now – focus on that!"

Harry swallowed hard, the memory of the time he had spent moulded to his godfather in this very room crashing down upon him. He wondered if that future would somehow include more of that closeness. But as much as he wished for that to be, he just could not allow Narcissa and Draco to be unjustly treated when they did not deserve it.

_Draco..._ he reflected, had he ever addressed the youngest Malfoy by his first name? He pushed the thought aside and met Sirius' gaze straight on.

"I intend to embrace that future," he said slowly and clearly, emphasising every syllable, "but I won't see the Malfoys convicted for crimes they didn't commit."

"Who cares!"

"_I care!_" And then the words tumbled across Harry's lips before he could stop them, "What do _you_ know anyway? You weren't around when Dumbledore died! You weren't hunting down Horcruxes – you don't know _anything_!"

Sirius looked stricken. At Harry's words, his mouth had fallen open slightly and all the blood had drained from his face. For a second or two, Harry was sure his godfather would march up to him and slap him across the face, but then Sirius drew a ragged breath and stomped across the floor in the direction of the exit.

His eyes flashed as he turned to face them. "See to that wrist of his, Hermione," he growled, before he threw open the door, crossed the threshold and slammed the door shut behind him.

For a few long minutes, Harry stood staring after him, unable to process what had just happened. When he finally turned to look at her, he saw that Hermione was wearing a blank expression he suspected mirrored his own pretty well. She was gaping at the door. Then suddenly she sprang to life, shaking her head irritably and tightening her hold on her wand.

"I can't believe it, Harry!" she said. "How can he _defend _the use of drugs on _anyone_? I'm sure it's illegal! And the Malfoys aren't officially accused of anything yet!"

There was something cold spreading through Harry's stomach. "He didn't mean to..."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him and her voice acquired a rather sharp edge. "Didn't you hear him? And you were arguing yourself for the need to give them a fair treatment, or have you forgotten that?"

"Well, no, but..." Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Even though he knew Sirius was most probably wrong, and Hermione most probably right, he did not like listening to her criticising his godfather. "You know he still suffers from his time in Azkaban..." he tried weakly.

"If that is so, then that more than anything should make him determined to ensure that no one innocent meets with the same fate!"

"But we're talking about the _Malfoys_ here. And we don't know if..."

She sighed in frustration. "Exactly, Harry! _We don't know. W_here would we be if the judges of the Wizengamot resorted to that way of reasoning? Now give me your hand."

o.O.o

The afternoon crawled by. Harry spent it sprawled out on his belly on Ron's bed, watching him and Hermione play wizard's chess. She had improved remarkably, Harry admitted. She even looked as though she was enjoying herself. He averted his gaze, though, when Ron kissed her; and he wished he were deaf when she giggled in which he considered a very un-Hermione-ish fashion. Since he was trying so hard not to listen, it took him a little while to come to his next conclusion: this was not the typical girlish giggle that set even the toughest Hogwarts suits of armour writhing nervously. No, this was a new type of sound, one that hinted at some sort of promise.

This realisation caused him to stare at them instead. The chessboard stood between them, but every so often, Ron's fingers would brush Hermione's, or they would exchange a smile. When Ron leaned in to plant a third kiss on Hermione's cheek (both of them oblivious to the fact that one of Ron's Knights on his own volition was currently threatening to decapitate one of Hermione's terrified pawns) it hit Harry just how much time the two of them must have spent together while he had been busy dealing with his own issues and with... Sirius.

He did not begrudge them this, he told himself firmly, deliberately trying to steer his thoughts away from his godfather. He had known for years that it would come to this eventually. What did surprise him, though, was that he apparently was less prepared for it than he had thought himself to be. But Ron had lost a brother and all of them had lost so many friends it hurt to even begin reckoning them up, and so they _deserved _this. (Ron's Knight had taken to poking the quivering pawn in its side with the tip of his sword, delighting in his abilities to make it jump.)

Yes, they deserved this, Harry thought to himself. They really did. If only the feeling of loneliness would go away...

"Oh, stop it!" he told the Knight who glared up at him and brandished his sword menacingly at Harry instead.

"Sorry, mate." Ron's ears turned a bright red and some of the colour rubbed off on Hermione's cheeks as well.

"What? Oh, I didn't mean you two..." Harry nodded at the Knight. "He was, um, threatening your pawn, Hermione."

Taking full advantage of Hermione's attention finally returning to it, the pawn began squealing indignantly. Meanwhile, Ron turned a glower on his Knight, "Hey, you don't get to kill the lady's pieces. We want to stay on her good side, yeah?"

For a moment, the Knight regarded him in silence. The he gave a snort and without further ado, walked off the chessboard.

o.O.o

When the trio entered the kitchen around dinnertime, Harry had hoped to find Sirius there. He had made no attempt to locate his godfather all afternoon and no Sirius had knocked on the boys' door, armed with an excuse or an apology or – Harry's heart clenched – a hug. He really would not mind a hug right now. But there was no sign of him in the kitchen; Mrs Weasley was just emerging from the pantry and as far as Harry could see, she had been the only one in there.

Ginny and George were already seated and he avoided their eyes as he dropped into his usual place next to Sirius' empty chair. Mr Weasley had obviously not returned from the Ministry yet and Kreacher it seemed had decided not to grace them with his presence.

As he shuffled peas on to his plate he could feel Ginny's eyes on him but no matter how hard he tried to ignore her, she would not stop staring. He did not have to look up to know that it was she who was watching him, he could tell from the uncomfortable twisting of his stomach into a knot.

_Yes, _he addressed her silently, _I'm a git for not telling you sooner but... _But what was there to tell? 'Sorry, Gin, can't go out with you any longer because I've fallen in love with my godfather.'

Because fallen in love he had. He supposed there was really no point in denying that any longer. It did not seem to matter, though, since Sirius could obviously not stand him for more than two days in a row.

'Sorry, Ginny, I've fallen in love with Sirius, but I think he hates me.'

Which he did not, of course, but the thought crammed itself into Harry's head anyway, shoving some of that precious logic and reason aside.

"Harry, dear?"

He looked up, quite unable to appreciate Mrs Weasley's kind smile. In the corner of his eye, he could see Ginny setting down her glass of pumpkin juice. "Yes?"

Mrs Weasley drew a deep breath and Harry wondered why she suddenly looked a bit nervous. "Well, you see, Arthur and I have decided that it would be for the best if we all returned to The Burrow... tomorrow, after breakfast."

Oh. Harry's heart sank – if possible – even deeper in his breast. One more thing he had forgotten in the mess that was his feelings and thoughts. But though she had specifically addressed him, it seemed that this was news to the others as well.

"Tomorrow?" Ron echoed her, "but..."

"Tomorrow is Sunday," said Mrs Weasley briskly, as though she had expected one or two objections and had already rehearsed a little speech to overrule them. "Not that it seems to matter much to the Ministry which day of the week we are on, but your father should be able to take a couple of hours off tomorrow so that we can Floo back home and... settle in properly."

No one mentioned Fred. Harry wondered if they ever would, again. He glanced over at Hermione who sent him a _look_. It was now or never. He cleared his throat. "Um, Mrs Weasley?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I won't be coming with you."

For a moment, her face was blank, suggesting only that she did not comprehend. Then she frowned. "What do you mean you won't be coming with us?"

He swallowed, feeling like the thirteen-year-old he had once been, glued to the spot by the sharp gaze of Professor McGonagall. "I will be staying here," he said. "With Sirius."

"You will be...? Harry," she laid down her fork and placed both her hands on the table, palms down, "listen now, this place is not doing any of us any good."

"It's good enough for Sirius, and so it's good enough for me."

"Yeah, and Sirius is such a stable guy," ventured George.

If it had been Ron who had said it, Harry would have glared at him. He was spared, however, from coming up with the proper response as Mrs Weasley spoke again:

"You can visit Sirius anytime you like, Harry," she said gently. "But Arthur and I agree that it would be for the best if you returned with us to The Burrow."

Harry stared at her. "I beg your pardon, Mrs Weasley, but I am of age," he said, careful not to give in to the budding anger he felt at being treated like a child by her, "and I am perfectly capable of deciding for myself what is best for me."

"Yes, of course you are, dear, but surely there are things that–"

"Mum," Ginny interrupted her suddenly. "Harry's old enough to know what he wants." Her brown eyes settled on him, and they were like a load on his already unbearably heavy heart. "If he wants to stay here, then he should stay here."

She said no more – she did not have to. Harry was sure he had never felt worse in his life.

o.O.o

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place lay shrouded in darkness. The shadows were so compact that Harry could barely make out the floor beneath his feet. Or his feet, for that matter.

He had left Ron snoring softly in their room; not really knowing why or what he was doing, Harry had crept downstairs to the drawing room, and then, when he found that brought him no peace of mind, had dragged his feet upstairs again. He could not sleep and so he lingered by the bedroom door, wanting to do _something_, but having no idea what that might be.

He leaned against the banister and closed his eyes, willing the confusion to go away. He had already been through this once and was not very keen on reliving it. The gaslights had wanted to spring to life the moment he stepped out on to the second floor landing. He had discouraged them with a flick of his wand. He let out a long breath and was so focused on his inner turmoil that he did not hear the floorboards creak as someone approached. All he knew was that hands suddenly grabbed his shoulders and that he was shoved against the wall; and that warm lips crashed down upon his own.

All air was driven out of his lungs and Harry's eyes flew open in pure shock. Hands, wet and cool, as opposed to the lips, roamed his chest, dug their way underneath his t-shirt and cupped his arse. Sirius growled deep in his throat and Harry's knees buckled. He had no option but to open up as his godfather's tongue pushed inside his mouth, as his lips were bruised and the thin fabric of his pyjama bottoms in no way shielded his body from Sirius'.

Harry smelled mud and rain and wet fur on him; he was held upright by the hands pushing him further up against the wall, and the knee that was forcing its way between his legs. There was no rhythm to the kiss, no harmony in the way Sirius' bucked his hips, and no way could Harry find words for what he felt when Sirius' hard cock pressed against his groin. Harry choked on a breath as fire stabbed him and sent a shockwave of heat through his body. Then Sirius's tongue gave a final sweep through his mouth and Harry was released.

Panting and aching he sagged against the wall, wanting more, wanting Sirius pushing against him again, but his godfather only took a few steps back. His hiss reverberated through Harry like the rich toll of a heavy bell:

"I. Never. Want. To. Argue. With. You. Again."

And with that, he melted into the darkness, leaving Harry to deal with the aftermath of a completely new whirlwind of emotions and sensations.

**TBC**

I'm not sure the title makes any sense... but I kinda liked it :)


	13. Ginny

_*A HUGE thank you to Kai/Only For Signed Reviews for providing me with the solution to my editing/posting problems! THANK YOU!*_

And thank you all for your lovely comments on the last chapter! From what I saw, quite a few of you appreciated Harry's Ginny moment. So what is a simple writer to do? She gives you more of the same ;)

You do realise this story could go on for like... forever? Love you for reading!

**Chapter Thirteen – Ginny**

Needless to say, Harry did not sleep much that night. To begin with, he spent some ten agonising minutes in the bathroom on the first floor – with his back to the cracked mirror so that his reflection would not taunt him – before he could work up the courage to even _consider_ doing something about his most pressing problem. Sure, he'd wanked before, once in a while (just like any other average teenage boy), but he had never before had a _reason _for doing it. As in a _real_ one. Of course, he had been curious and once in a while he had woken up hard for no particular reason at all – all natural stuff. But _now_...

Sirius' face danced before his eyes, the very detailed memory of every second of their admittedly not too long encounter on the landing outside Harry's bedroom, made his blood boil. And this time, anger was not involved in any way.

Never before had Harry had an image to toss to (this was _not _the moment for attempting to decide why neither Cho nor Ginny had done that for him). It made him feel almost dirty. Even so, it also eventually made him push down his pyjama bottoms and his boxers, and take himself in hand. This, the first step, was awfully difficult to take, but he found that the next ones followed easier. Leaning back against the black basin, Harry closed his eyes and surrendered to the flow of images that filled his mind. He relived the sensation of Sirius' hardness pressed against him again and again and again, until it almost hurt.

During the time it took him to find release, Harry learned that when it came to pure, primal desire, real life was infinitely much better than dreams.

He had no more than cleaned himself up before guilt and shame came crashing down on him. And yet... he could not help but wonder if Sirius had resorted to the same angst-filled activity – but, of course, with Harry's face dancing before his mind's inner eye. He quickly turned away from the mirror again, quite determinedly refusing to acknowledge his flushed cheeks, his glassy eyes and his ruffled hair. There really was nothing new about that last bit, but Sirius' hands had tangled in it, and Sirius had kissed him and Sirius had shoved his hard cock against Harry's and...

_Oh, God..._

To summarise, Harry was fucked. Well, not literately, but most definitely if you were talking figuratively.

With a deep breath, he turned back to the basin and kept his gaze trained on the taps in the form of open-mouthed serpents. Removing his glasses and balancing them precariously on the edge, he splashed his face with ice cold water, wishing it were morning and the perfectly appropriate time for a bone-chilling, blood-freezing, mind-numbing bath. Hogwarts was great for learning all about turning mice into kettles but they did not exactly offer classes on how to handle brought-back-to-life godfathers that seemed to want nothing more than to shag their godsons. The fact that this most probably was what Sirius was after opened up a whole new terrifying world to Harry. He was quite – _quite_ – sure that the humble amount of snogging he'd managed to cram into his life in between Voldemort and homework was nothing compared to Sirius' wealth of experience in this particular area of life. Assuming, of course, that he did have a wealth of experience, but Harry did not very much doubt that. In fact, a small part of him would have been disappointed, even, to find out that he did not.

The resident chill in the bathroom eventually chased him upstairs again. It was not until he reached the abandoned second landing that he realised he'd been half entertaining a hope that Sirius would be waiting for him there, maybe with some kind of proposition... And so it was that when he sneaked into his bedroom, trying his best not to disturb Ron who was snoring softly, Harry was hopelessly torn between disappointment and relief. But indescribably grateful that he had to answer for his burning cheeks to no one.

o.O.o

The next morning brought something of a truce with regards to the weather. Heavy rainclouds hung low in the sky but there was an odd sort of bright light in the air, hinting, at least, at the idea of sunlight. It was with some reluctance that Harry trudged after Ron downstairs. A part of him desperately wanted to see Sirius while another part of him was fully convinced that never ever again leaving his bedroom was the best plan ever conceived of. They got no further than the hallway on the ground floor, however, before they came upon Hermione and a good part of the Weasley clan. They had all gathered around the large trunk Percy had brought back from The Burrow, as though it were a peculiar kind of Christmas tree.

"Oh, there you are! I was just about to go upstairs and wake you." Mrs Weasley's brown eyes darted anxiously between them, but Harry got the impression that she avoided to look directly at him. "Ronald, I need you to pack."

"Good morning to you, too..." muttered Ron under his breath. "I've nothing to pack, mum. Hermione's got all my stuff in that neat bag of hers." He pointed at her.

Hermione obligingly raised her beaded bag for scrutiny; they all looked ready to leave. For a moment, Mrs Weasley looked lost, obviously not ready to believe – witch, though she was – that something so small could hold anything more than a comb and... Harry was not exactly sure of what girls normally carried around in beaded bags. But then she collected herself and nodded.

"Very well..." she said absentmindedly, her attention already diverted. "George, love, are those your only pair of jeans?"

Harry saw no reason for why he should draw any unwanted attention to himself. He remained in his place behind Ron, trying his very best to avoid Ginny's eyes while his thoughts swirled. _This is it_, he told himself. _Tell her you need to speak with her. Tell her you don't want to go out with her any more and then that's that, and you'll be free to figure out what this thing between you and Sirius is... _But no matter how great that sounded in theory, Harry simply could not work up the courage to open his mouth and address her.

"We're leaving _now_?" Ron was asking. "Where is dad? And Percy? For that matter..."

"Your brother is at the Ministry," said Mrs Weasley, and where she once might have sounded proud at her son being summoned to work on a Sunday, she now looked almost disgusted. "Your father is at home at present but will be back soon to..." She trailed off, frowning at her only daughter, "Ginny, sweetheart, will you please..."

Harry never heard what Mrs Weasley wanted Ginny to do because just then the door to the dining room opened further down the hallway and Sirius appeared in the semi-darkness. Harry's heart skipped a beat when his godfather's eyes fell on him.

"Harry, would you come in here for a moment?" He spoke in a low voice that nevertheless managed to carry all the way to where Harry huddled behind Ron.

His throat gone suddenly dry, Harry did not trust his voice enough to answer, and he ignored the fleeting looks that were sent his way as he slid past the others and made for the dining room.

The light was a bit brighter in here, somewhat successfully filtering through the grimy windows. He dropped his gaze to the stained carpet, not really daring to look Sirius in the eye. He wished he had thought of checking himself in the mirror before he went downstairs. Sirius was not wearing robes today and there was no way in hell that Harry was going to let his gaze wander over that chest, hidden only by a tight-fitting black t-shirt, before he knew what this was all about. As he waited for his godfather to speak, he heard Mrs Weasley recommence her inquiry about clothes and belongings, and the muttered responses.

Sirius gave the door a little push but it did not close entirely. A moment's silence followed during which Harry wished himself a million miles away. Then his breath caught when he realised how close Sirius suddenly was. He did not dare to move as his godfather completely erased the distance between them. He stopped breathing altogether when Sirius placed two fingers under his chin and tilted his head backwards.

For all the agony and for all the aching and shameful desire that Harry had known since last night, the kiss was heart-wrenchingly soft. At first, it was even hard to tell whether their lips touched at all. They remained almost unmoving for a while, and Harry was conscious only of this simple touch that in no way matched his racing heartbeat. The floor swayed beneath his feet as Sirius increased the pressure just a little and opened his mouth enough to be able to taste Harry's lower lip with a tongue tip. Ever so gently, his godfather coaxed him to open up and Harry yielded, his world spinning to a complete standstill. Sirius' tongue slid against his own and Harry tasted toothpaste, and was vaguely surprised; he'd never thought of his godfather as someone who particularly enjoyed brushing his teeth. The thought was gone as soon as it had formed, though, and he willingly let Sirius explore every corner of his mouth, retaining just enough sense to angle his head so that his glasses would not be too much in the way.

It ended just as tenderly as it had begun. Sirius pulled back little by little, still kissing, still sliding their tongues together, still gingerly sucking on his lower lip, but inevitably letting Harry go. The warmth of his godfather's mouth had wrapped securely around him and he felt as though he were melting. Eventually, Sirius placed a final, very light, kiss to his lips and Harry slowly opened his eyes to the light of day.

Sirius' own lips were reddened and his grey eyes were gleaming. "I want to fuck you senseless."

Colour rushed into Harry's cheeks and a wide, wolfish grin was painted across Sirius' features. But he was not jesting. There was something distinctly predatory in the way he was regarding Harry and it made a shiver of fearful anticipation run down the young man's spine.

"However, this, I believe," continued Sirius quietly, "is neither the right time nor place for that... Or..." he cast a quick glance in the direction of the large table and a smirk replaced the grin, "not the right time at least."

"You..." Harry swallowed hard, "But it's..."

"Ssh..."

Sirius covered his mouth with his own once more but the kiss was initially no more demanding than the first one, though perhaps a little less elegant. Harry lost his precarious hold on reason as his godfather deepened the kiss and sucked Harry's tongue into his own mouth for further exploration. A jolt of heat reverberated through his body and worked its way all the way down to his groin. He meant to pull away but Sirius' hands had landed on his hips now and all Harry wanted was to run _his_ hands down his godfather's back, searching for the warm skin that hid underneath his t-shirt and...

He broke away a little, or tried to, at least. Indeed, he was rather successful until Sirius wound one arm around his waist and with his free hand caught one of Harry's own hands in his. "Here..." he mumbled against Harry's lips, "feel this."

Harry nearly choked when Sirius pressed his palm flat against the prominent bulge in his trousers. His skin seemed to soak up the heat that was emanating from Sirius' body. In fact, Harry would not have been surprised to learn that someone had pointed their wand at them both and whispered _Incendio. _He had no idea what to do but it seemed he could not move and so he remained with his palm against Sirius' cloth covered erection and allowed himself to be kissed in a way that he up until now had not known existed.

His head swam as Sirius ended the kiss and, removing Harry's burning hand from his groin, twined their fingers together and smiled. "Good morning."

Harry licked his lips, quite unnecessarily, and stared up at him. "What... I thought you wanted to..."

"Not the right time, Harry," Sirius reminded him, his eyes twinkling. "I think we ought to give the Weasleys a chance to leave first."

Harry had completely forgotten about them. When he concentrated, he could still hear them talking in the hallway. He felt the colour drain from his face. "They could have..."

"But they didn't." Sirius grinned. "How's that coherent speech of yours coming along?"

"I wasn't really expecting this," he mumbled.

"Tell me, Harry... after last night, what _were_ you expecting?"

He shrugged, dropping his gaze to Sirius' left shoulder. "Yesterday you were angry with me... again." Now that he was sobering up, it was hard not to recall the fight they'd had about the Malfoys, and he discovered that a few kisses – no matter how passionate they were – did not really make up for the misery.

Sirius sighed. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that..."

Harry glanced up at him. "I don't get it... Why were you so adamant that the Malfoys should end up in Azkaban? You spent twelve years there and from what I've heard, you didn't have the time of your life..."

"Harry..." Sirius' eyes had lost all humour. He hesitated. "Listen, it has nothing to do with the Malfoys, really..." Letting go of Harry, he raked a hand through his dark hair. "I just..."

"What?" prompted Harry when it seemed he would say no more.

"Well..." Sirius shrugged, he too, and he sounded slightly rueful. "I just... I just don't want you getting involved, you know." He grimaced. "I know I'm being a selfish shit and all, but I want you here... not chasing after Ministry officials and going to trials and..."

"What are you talking about?

Sirius did not meet his gaze. "I want you all to myself, Harry... I was given this second chance – _you _gave me this second chance – and I don't want to lose you to some fucking noble cause."

Watching him, Harry did not know whether to laugh or scream. "Sirius..." he said slowly, "I'm staying here, with you. I'm not leaving with the Weasleys and I'm not going to move in with Draco and his mum in some cell somewhere."

"Yeah, about that," said Sirius, "Molly told me she's upset–"

"You're changing the subject."

"Fine. Go on."

Harry felt a small twitch in the corner of his lips but he firmly forbade himself to smile. "The Malfoys..."

"Are Death Eaters."

"Well, yes, but Draco..."

"Whom you've always hated –"

"Did sort of redeem himself –"

"Lucius –"

"Can go to Azkaban."

Sirius' eyes shot to Harry's face. "But I thought you wanted to save them?"

"If you had been listening properly yesterday, you would have heard me say that I don't care what happens to Lucius because, yes, I believe that he truly was supportive of Voldemort. But Draco and his mum were only in for the ride because he wanted it." Harry added an exasperated sigh, if only for the effect. He felt rather like Hermione.

"Right." Sirius ran a hand across his jaw. "You know that you look like you haven't slept for a week?"

"You're changing the subject again..."

"No, I'm not." Stepping up to him, Sirius flashed a small smile, but he did look somewhat sheepish. "OK, fine. Go save the Malfoys."

"Two of them, at least."

"Whatever. Just make sure you come back, yeah?"

Looking up into his lined face, Harry finally smiled. "Promise."

"That's what I like to hear..."

Edging a bit closer still, Sirius' hands resumed their gentle hold on Harry's hips. His eyes were sparkling again and this more than anything made a wave of pleasure wash through Harry. Leaning in, Sirius brushed their lips together, exchanging smiles.

Harry's eyes were drifting closed once more but this time something stopped them. There was confusion for a second or two as he could not understand why Sirius tensed. He opened his mouth, a question ready on the tip of his tongue, but he never needed to ask. In the doorway, with her eyes widened in shock and her mouth open, stood Ginny.

Something very cold wrapped around Harry's heart and his stomach plummeted into the basement. None of them moved, none of them spoke. Ginny was white in the face, her bright green sweater standing out against her skin so strikingly that she looked like a ghost.

It was ages upon ages before Harry found his voice. "Gin... let me explain..."

As though entranced, she nodded slowly, her eyes not leaving them. "I think... I just might... let you do that, Harry..."

It was Sirius who first reclaimed the ability to move. He disentangled himself from Harry, taking a few steps back. Where his hands had rested on Harry's hips, two patches of warmth remained. "I'll..." he cleared his throat, "um..."

Harry certainly did not have the right to long for him again, already. With Ginny having found out his big secret, Harry was pretty sure he did not even have the right to _look_ at his godfather. "Upstairs?" he suggested weakly.

She nodded again. It looked mechanical.

It proved impossible to sneak past the Weasleys unnoticed. Harry caught Ron's puzzled expression and as they reached the stairs, Mrs Weasley called after them, "Ginny, your father will be here any minute now...!" Ginny did not answer her.

The bathroom in which Harry had spent a good deal of the previous night, he realised now, lay practically next door to the room occupied by Ginny and Hermione. Somehow, in all his confusion, he had managed to forget this and now he felt even worse. What if he had made any strange noises...? What if he had... groaned? Harry's cheeks were burning as he let Ginny enter the bedroom first.

Harry carefully closed the door behind him. This room was about the same size as the one he and Ron slept in, and equally dank and dismal. Two narrow beds and one gigantic chest of drawers, decorated with odd symbols and signs competed for attention. The black velvet curtains were dusty. Ginny plopped down on to one of the beds but Harry did not follow her. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other while she clearly waited for him to speak.

"I'm sorry."

She only raised one eyebrow. Her lips were pressed into a thin line.

Harry forced himself to look at her. "I'm really, really sorry, Gin... I should have told you."

Unmoving, she continued to stare at him.

"I don't know what happened..." said Harry. "I don't know what _is happening_. I came back – _Sirius_ came back – and he..." He did not know what to say. "We just..."

"Harry... I'm a girl," said Ginny quietly. "Sirius is... not."

"I know that. I know..."

"Did you always...?" She shook her head, a furrow deepening on her brow. "You liked Cho..."

"I liked _you_!" Harry himself was surprised at the fervour with which he spoke.

This time, she raised both eyebrows.

"I still do..." said Harry. "Just not... like that, any more."

They were silent for a little while. Harry felt like a statue.

Eventually, Ginny spoke again, very quietly. "I didn't know whether you were alive or dead, Harry. For all I knew you could have..." She drew a deep breath, "I didn't know anything..."

Cautiously, Harry crossed the floor. When she did not object he sank down to sit beside her. "I missed you."

She sat staring at her hands that lay folded in her lap. "You don't owe me anything, Harry... You broke up with me."

"I didn't want to put you in danger..."

"It doesn't matter now."

Harry swallowed hard. A great big lump was forming in his throat. "I don't know how to explain this," he admitted. "Ever since Sirius came back, we've had this connection... I feel like we're really close, you know."

"Yeah, well, obviously you are." Her smile was completely humourless but at least it was not grim.

"I wanted to tell you – I meant to. But I didn't know what to say..." Now that he had begun talking, the words rushed out of him, one after the other. "How was I to tell you that I felt attracted to my own godfather?"

"This is so weird..."

"It's madness, Gin. I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Your _godfather_...I mean, it's not enough for you that he's alive – you have to fancy him too!" She had turned to face him and there was a flash in the brown eyes. "You're a bastard, Harry, for not telling me!" She flung her bright red hair over a shoulder. "For _one year _I was without news of you! I thought you were dead! And then you come back, and you almost let Voldemort kill you, and then all of a sudden it's over and Fred's the one who's dead and you're alive and you say _nothing! NOTHING!_"

Her last word tore through Harry's heart like a blade. It was worse than any _Cruciatus _he'd been dealt. He watched as she flew up from the bed, spinning to face him. "I should hate you for this!" Tears were forming in her eyes and she angrily brushed them away. "I should hate you, Harry..."

Her first sob pulled Harry to his feet and without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her. At first she tried to twist away from him but he was determined and when she realised her struggle was pointless, she buried her face in his shoulder and let him hold her as she cried.

"Ginny!" Mrs Weasley's voice came floating through the door. "Ginny, your father is here!"

Ignoring her, Harry tightened his hold on Ginny while she cursed him between sobs and shallow, ragged breaths.

"I'm so sorry, Gin..." he mumbled into her hair, feeling tears sting his own eyes as well. Despite everything, that flowery fragrance still clung to her. He relaxed his hold on her a little and closed his eyes to the pained that welled up.

"_Ginny?"_

Taking Harry by surprise, Ginny tore away from him, stomped over to the door, flung it open – Harry thanked whatever powers watching for the fact that Mrs Weasley was calling from somewhere down below – and cried, _"Mother, NOT NOW!"_

A deafening silence followed during which Harry was absolutely convinced that he had ended up in a dream again, and when he woke – anytime now – he would be back in his dorm with a dead godfather and a war yet to come. In fact, for a moment or two, he preferred this scenario to the current one. Then Ginny slammed the door shut, and slowly turned back to him, her jaw tightly clenched.

"Anything else you'd like to tell me?"

Harry looked into her tearstained face and her puffy, reddened eyes and came to the conclusion that he would always find her beautiful. "Yeah," he said slowly, and his stomach took a very unpleasant backward flip. "I think I'm in love with Sirius and I'm scared to death."

**TBC**


	14. Of Goings and Comings

As always, I am blown away by your faith in this story. Thank you!

**Chapter Fourteen – Of Goings and Comings**

The oppressive silence returned as Harry waited nervously for Ginny to digest this admission. He would have liked to say something more but he did not know where to begin. Besides, he was not sure she would happily listen to him anyway while he aloud sorted out his feelings for Sirius.

In the end, she simply echoed him, "You think you're in love with Sirius?" Her face was blank.

Harry nodded, a bit of heat finding its way into his cheeks. "Yeah... "

She stood staring at him. Or rather, Harry had the impression that her gaze had fallen him and now she had trouble averting it. It was stuck, glued to him.

"I suppose that is a good thing," she said eventually, very quietly.

"How's that?" He had some trouble breathing properly, it seemed.

She gave an awkward shrug. "I guess... I guess it's better that you... Well, I'd rather be replaced by someone you love than someone you just..." She fought to the very end of this statement; Harry could hear how strained her voice was.

He shook his head, feeling a bit of tension drain from his body. He did not know what he had expected. Maybe some more screaming. "You don't get it, Gin..." With a sigh, he sank back down on the bed. "It's not that easy."

"I think I'd be really angry if it were."

He looked up at her. She was not smiling. "I'd be furious if I were you," he said quietly, his train of thought taking a little detour.

This time it was Ginny who sighed. "Harry... you don't know what this past year was like. I _was _angry, believe me. I was _furious_ for you taking off with Ron and Hermione and leaving me behind."

"Dumbledore left me–"

"I get that, Harry. _I know that_. I get that it was always supposed to be you and Ron and Hermione. But can you even begin to understand how hard it can be for someone else – _anybody else _– to find a way into that innermost circle of friendship?"

Harry frowned. "But Ron and Hermione fight all the time," he protested. "And Ron left us when– "

"They'd die for you in an instant," Ginny cut across him, her voice sharp. "Just as you would die for them."

To that, Harry could find nothing to say.

Ginny pushed herself off the door and slowly crossed the floor towards him, her eyes finally leaving him. "Last spring I thought that I had somehow figured out a way to handle all of this. I could be your girlfriend and share moments with you that Ron and Hermione need never know existed. And you would still be their closest friend and I would not be jealous." She plopped down beside him. "Then came the funeral."

Harry's heart sank low in his breast. "And I broke up with you."

"Yes." She scooted back until she leaned against the wall, pulling her knees up to her chest. "I've never felt more left out in my entire life. Not even when I was a kid and Fred and George would make me close my eyes and count to ten, only to find that they were gone when I opened them again." Her eyes looked a little misty but she did not cry.

"I'm sorry." He barely knew what he was apologising for – their breakup or Fred's death. Maybe both.

She acknowledged this only with a small nod. After a moment's hesitation, Harry, too, moved further up the bed until they sat side by side once again. He was relieved when she did not order him away.

"Imagine Hogwarts under the rule of Death Eaters," she said after a while. "We fought them as best we could, but Dungbombs do only so much damage after all... We used every trick, ever curse, every spell we were ever taught. I suppose the DA lessons paid off really well, in the end..."

She did not look particularly proud of their rebellion. In fact, there was a haunted look in her brown eyes. Harry's stomach turned over unpleasantly. "But...?"

She bit her lip, staring out into space. When she spoke again, her voice had dropped almost to a whisper. "They knew more than we did. We were never trained in the Dark Arts and they were all grown-ups. We were... after all... only children."

Harry did not need to ask. It took a whole lot of determination but he was able to quash the rising rage and building nausea, and he watched how his own hand landed on top of hers on the crumpled and moth-eaten bedspread. In silence, he twined their fingers together. He reckoned that what Ginny needed right now was comfort – launching a Hatred for Death Eaters Campaign would not do either of them any good. Deep down he did wonder, though, if he really was the right person for her to talk to.

The old house's usual creaky grunts and complaints were the only sounds heard for a while. No voices drifted up from downstairs; it seemed that Mrs Weasley had decided to leave them alone for a while longer. Perhaps she was envisioning them together: Harry and her daughter as a real couple. Finally. The conversation he'd had with Ron a few days back resurfaced among his memories. Perhaps Mrs Weasley was expecting Ginny to be wearing Aunt Muriel's tiara before too long? Harry suspected that his now quite firmly established dislike for any tiaras would not survive many hours as a valid excuse if Mrs Weasley set her mind on it.

He was stumbling along this most unpleasant line of muddled reasoning when Ginny gave his hand a little squeeze. "Tell me about Sirius?"

Harry dragged himself back to the present. He kept his gaze firmly trained on his knees. "I don't know how it happened," he said slowly. "I was so happy he'd returned... and then all of a sudden I wanted him to kiss me." He tried a smile and failed miserably. "How's that for an explanation?"

She ignored the last bit. "So you've discovered you have feelings for one another?"

"Yes. Well..." Harry shifted where he sat but their fingers remained interlaced. "I love him... I mean, I always have..." He grimaced. "Ever since I discovered the truth about him, that is. You know, realised that he wasn't out to kill me and that he would make a decent godfather and everything."

"He loves you too, Harry..."

"I know. But that's the problem." He looked up at her, but why he was pleading with _her_ he could not understand. "See, he loves me but I'm _in love _with him. That's different, Gin." He searched her face as though he would find the answer there. "How do I know he's after more than just..." he swallowed, "sex?"

He saw the surprise in her eyes – the pure _shock, _to be honest – but he was so thankful that she did not pull away or blush – or curse him – that he very nearly said so out loud.

She did, however, make a face. "I don't think I'm ready for any details, Harry..."

"There are none," he hastened to assure her. "But..." he drew a deep breath, "he's made it pretty clear that he's, um, interested..."

"I kind of got that impression."

"I'm so sorry, Gin. I should have –"

"You should have told me, yes. I think we've agreed on that." She released Harry's hand and stretched out her legs before her. "I assume you haven't considered simply asking him?"

"No, not really," admitted Harry.

"You really suck at communicating."

He stared at her in surprise. A small, very bleak smile curved her lips.

"I've missed you, Harry."

He had a hard time arranging his face in a matching fashion; he still expected the blow. "I've missed you too," he said at last, almost cautiously. When this proved non-fatal, a warm and unexpectedly fluffy feeling began wrapping around his heart and he relaxed a little. It did nothing to drown out his curiosity, however, and with curiosity came pinch of hard, cold reality. He swallowed. "So... you're not going to tell me that he's too old? Or that the very fact that he is my godfather makes it disgusting?"

Ginny's eyes locked with his. "No, I'm not," she said quietly and almost too quickly. As though she had predicted the question and already made up her mind. "As much as I would have wanted for us to get back together, Harry, I can't make you stop loving him." She shook her head against the wall. "I don't think... that I think it's disgusting. As for him being your godfather and something like twice your age... you obviously know that already." She grasped his hand again and gave it a new squeeze. "Others will remind you often enough, I'm sure. I see no reason for why I should do it also."

"Thanks." It was embarrassingly inadequate but it was all he could come up with on such short notice.

"Just no details, please."

He smiled, feeling better now than he had in days. His heart had even picked up a decent rhythm that was not likely to kill him. "No details."

"Good." She let him go and slid off the bed. "I think we'd better go downstairs."

Harry followed her as she made towards the door but before they stepped out on to the landing, he laid a hand on her arm. "Gin... are you OK?"

She turned to face him very slowly. All traces of her smiles were gone and although she did not look upset, Harry got the feeling she was not too happy either. "I'm still angry with you," she said, "though I could never hate you even if I wanted to. I think I'm going to have to ignore you for a few days, Harry."

He nodded, unable to think of anything to say. As he followed her out of the bedroom, however, his mind was busy turning over another sentence of hers: Ginny thought that someday there would be others telling Harry that Sirius was wrong for him. This must mean that she believed that somehow their... _thing_... would be made public. There was nothing at all in this suggestion that helped assuage a sudden, rather anxious, churning of his stomach.

In the end it turned out that they did not have to make their way downstairs for the rest of the Weasleys, Hermione and Sirius were assembled in the drawing room. They all looked up as Ginny and Harry entered by no one said a word. Harry avoided Sirius' inquisitive gaze but he felt it burn its way through his body. Ginny, however, strode up to her mother and without further ado apologised for screaming at her before.

Mrs Weasley, whose eyes darted between Harry and her daughter, only nodded absent-mindedly and mumbled something Harry could not make out. Ron was lounging in the sofa and Mr Weasley stood by the fireplace with the large trunk beside him. Hermione and George had claimed the armchairs and Sirius was leaning against the wall, over by Harry's yellow curtains.

When the uncomfortable silence had dragged out long enough, Mr Weasley cleared his throat. "So, Ginny, if you are ready to leave..."

"Harry, dear," Mrs Weasley broke in, "are you quite certain that you do not wish to come with us?"

"Yes," he said, his voice scraping against his throat like wood against sandpaper. "Thank you, but I want to stay here."

She opened her mouth but Ron was the quicker one. He pushed himself to his feet and strode over to where Harry was standing near the doorway. Keeping his hands safely anchored in his pockets, Ron gave a casual sweep of the head so that his longish hair would stay out of his eyes. "So, mate..."

Harry flashed him a small grateful smile and Ron – with his back to his mother – winked conspiratorially. Then the moment was gone and the mirth in Ron's eyes faded.

"So..." said Harry.

Ron shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His hair fell across his forehead again as he looked down and chewed on his lower lip. When he lifted his eyes to Harry's face again, he looked oddly wistful. "Well done, and all."

Harry was reminded of Ginny's words from before. Yes, Harry would die for Ron without hesitation. He nodded slowly. "You too. Couldn't have done it without you."

Ron offered him a lopsided grin that was not altogether convincing. "If you ever need me to wield that Gryffindor sword again, y'know..."

"I'll let you know."

"Yeah."

Ron looked as though he was about to say something but whatever that something was Harry was never to find out because Hermione suddenly threw herself at them and crushed them all together in a breath-stealing, glasses-crushing, bruise-inducing, glorious hug.

"You sound as if you're never going to see each other again," she chided them in a thick voice, but the rest of her reprimand was lost as Harry tightened his hold on the two people who knew him better than anyone and who meant more to him than he could ever begin to describe.

He knew she was crying and when he squeezed his own eyes firmly shut, tears stung the back of his eyelids. "Thank you," he whispered.

When they disentangled, Ron quickly rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand before pushing his shoulders back. "He's only a Floo ride away, Hermione..."

"I've seen enough of you to last me a lifetime," Harry teased him.

Hermione heaved a sigh, but she was smiling through her tears. "We'll talk soon, Harry. Take care, will you?"

"I will," he promised her. He knew a small spark of guilt as he smiled at her. He hated keeping secrets from them, but it was too late now to say anything about Sirius. He would have to wait and see what happened before he let them in on it. Maybe it would all come to nothing anyway.

Over her shoulder he saw Mrs Weasley watching them with a fond, slightly sappy smile. "You'd better go," he said. "I'll see you..."

"On Friday," supplied Ron grimly, all humour gone from his face. "For the funeral."

Harry's heart dropped like a stone in his chest. "Oh, yeah. Right."

After that, there really was nothing more to say. He exchanged goodbyes with the rest of them, shaking hands with Mr Weasley and George who surprised him by hugging him too. Mrs Weasley tried one final time to convince him to join them in The Burrow but Harry gently but firmly declined the offer. Ginny remained near the fireplace. She did not look unkindly at him but she wore an expression that told Harry she was sticking with her plan. He gave her a small smile that he could not tell for sure that she returned.

One by one, starting with Mr Weasley, they disappeared among emerald flames until only Hermione was left. She turned to look at Harry. "It'll all change now, won't it?" she asked in a voice steeped in equal amounts of expectation, fear and wonder.

"Yeah," said Harry. "I guess it will."

She nodded, tossing some of the silvery powder on to the fire. Drawing a deep breath, she stepped inside the grate. "That's a good thing."

He worked up a smile for her. "Let's hope so."

"I'm sure it is," she said. "The Burrow!" And with that, she was gone.

Harry stood for some time, staring after her and at the flames that soon after her departure returned to normal. Not until this moment was he able to truly grasp that the quest was finally over. Ron and Hermione leaving meant that they had no more work to do together. No more missions. No more riddles, no more mysteries...

A new smile slowly spread over his face. Maybe now he would find out what basic, ordinary, day-to-day friendship was all about. Friendship that needed constant supervision and which was not furthered by some underlying fear of dying. He found that he liked that idea very much. He was definitely ready for some everyday, uneventful – even boring, if that was to be the case – plain and simple interaction with the people he loved most in the world.

And then, as if on cue, he sensed a presence behind him and hands landed on each of his shoulders. He started – the realisation that he did not have his wand flashed through his mind – before a very familiar voice drove the stab of fear away. "Missed you."

Harry let out a breath and forced himself to relax against Sirius' broad chest.

"Did I scare you?" his godfather chuckled, lips brushing the skin just beneath Harry's right earlobe.

"I've gotten pretty used to being the target..." muttered Harry under his breath, while trying not to give in too quickly to the shivers that now raced up and down his spine.

"I suggest..." Sirius decorated his neck with a string of kisses. "Nah, forget that... you could still be the target..."

Harry found it more and more difficult to focus. The flames danced before him in an endless muddle of moving orange and yellow. "What?"

"Only the attacks will be of another nature," mused Sirius while his hands drifted down Harry's sides.

"Sirius, wait."

His godfather froze behind him and Harry did not know whether to give thanks for this moment of clarity or not. He turned around in Sirius' stiff embrace. His talk with Ginny had dragged a few things to the surface, he realised – things he would rather forget but which were to be dealt with in only a few days, he'd been brutally reminded.

"How can..." he began, unsure of how to continue. He looked up into his godfather's grey eyes and felt a tug at his heart. "How can we do this? So many of us died... Do we have the right to... do this?" he finished weakly.

Sirius did not answer him at once. When he did speak, his words were so few that Harry felt he had missed something along the way. "For now, we forget."

When Harry did not appear to understand, Sirius sighed. "Listen," he said, "I feel the pain, Harry. It's there, all right. Like a fucking knife through the heart. It's like when James died... only this time it's only me left. Even if I was shoved into Azkaban the last time I knew Remus was still out there. One of us was... alive." He briefly closed his eyes. "Now it's only me left."

Harry swallowed hard. He dared to lift a hand to Sirius' face and he very gently brushed back some stray strands of coal black hair. "He must have felt the same way when you fell through the Veil. Lupin, I mean." Once a Professor, always a Professor. Harry still found it hard to speak about his old teacher and friend as 'Remus'.

"Yeah, I guess." Sirius shook his head, his cheek colliding with Harry's fingers that still hovered hesitantly in the air.

On impulse, Harry cupped his cheek. "I'm here with you."

Sirius stilled. "I know," he said softly. "And that's why I want to forget. Soon enough we'll have to face those monsters again."

_On Friday_, Harry thought. _On Friday we'll have to face the world again. _

He did not know who instigated the kiss, only that their lips met halfway and that the reunion felt like a blessing. Sirius' arms would around his waist and Harry was crushed against his hard frame. He clung to his godfather as though releasing him meant condemning both of them to a lifelong existence without the other. Sirius' tongue pushed into his mouth, claiming his warmth, forcing him to comply without complaint. Harry was short of breath and his head was spinning as his godfather devoured him with such force that he could not even think of responding. He lost track of Sirius' hands cupping his arse or tugging at his t-shirt; they skilfully moulded him to fit perfectly with the plan Harry only vaguely sensed was taking shape in Sirius' mind.

He gasped when his godfather drove a knee between his legs, and he would have lost his balance had he not been so firmly held. Sirius' tongue was sliding against his own and Harry squeezed his eyes shut, not sure where he ended or began.

"Come here," muttered Sirius in between kisses, pressing a hand into the small of his back to urge him closer still. "I need to..."

He gave a little jerk of his hips and Harry's blood sizzled in his veins. Through the dizziness and the double layers of fabric he could clearly feel his godfather's hard length pressing against his groin. Only then did he discover that his own hands had worked their way underneath Sirius' t-shirt and that they were pressed against warm – very warm – skin. Dazed, he came to the conclusion that the kisses they had shared in the dining room earlier still held power over Sirius. His heart picked up a faster beat and he felt the floor dissolve beneath his feet.

Sirius' husky voice slipped through him without resistance and made him tremble. "Could you be hard for me, Harry?"

It seemed that Sirius did not require an elaborate answer for he did not ask again when Harry only managed to let out a strangled groan. In fact, he chuckled low and proceeded to tug Harry's t-shirt upwards. "Lift your arms," he instructed, as needed.

Harry was not sure how he ended up bare-chested because all he was aware of was his godfather's hardness pressing against his own too-shocked-to-respond-immediately flesh and open-mouthed kisses being scattered all over his neck and shoulder. The heat of the flames licked his back and yet he shivered as though seized by an icy gust of wind. Then he must groan again for Sirius drove a hand in between them and rubbed his palm against Harry's slowly awakening cock.

"That's right," murmured Sirius when Harry bucked into his hand. "Tell me you like it, Harry."

At this point, Harry was ready to tell him anything he wanted to hear. He had never felt like this before. Blood was rushing to his groin, leaving his head blissfully empty but setting the rest of him on fire. "I like it," he said, in a raspy voice he would not have guessed were his own had he heard it under other circumstances.

Sirius' growl reverberated through him. "Sofa."

For all Harry knew, it could just as well have been magic and not his own feet that made Harry end up on his back with Sirius partially draped over him. He tried to focus as his godfather reached for something on the table and then the door slammed shut. Sirius smirked down at him. "This time, I will have _nothing _disturbing us."

Harry shivered again as he felt the spells and wards intertwine. Sirius was using some powerful magic but no one could have guessed by the almost careless way in which he flicked his wand. The grey eyes narrowed briefly before they fastened upon Harry again. There was a glint in them that he was beginning to recognise. Harry found it hard to breathe.

Sirius dropped his wand to the floor where it landed soundlessly. His gaze roamed Harry's chest but he did not touch it. Instead, he pulled back a little and in a swift move unbuttoned his trousers. With wide eyes, Harry could only stare as his godfather revealed his swollen flesh. Sirius caught his eyes and smirked again. "I've never been told I needed an _Engorgio_..."

If Harry had been nervous on the handful occasions when he had ventured a few steps into this new land, he was now scared witless. It was not so much Sirius' arousal as the obvious _desire_ – the very primal, raw desire that radiated from him, which stated very clearly that all Harry could do was to lie back and do his best to enjoy the ride. And it frightened him, too, that he found this concept so utterly tantalising.

But Sirius surprised him, much to his relief. Still with a smirk playing on his lips, his godfather released his own cock and began fingering the buttons that prevented him from seeing Harry's humble arousal. When Harry did not protest, he set to work, offering a more genuine smile when he could drag a forefinger along the bulge in Harry's boxers. "Let's keep it simple."

If this was simple, Harry was not sure he would ever endure complicated. Obediently, he lifted his hips off the cushions and Sirius eagerly pushed down his boxers and jeans. Harry heard himself moan as his godfather's hand encircled the base of his cock and tugged experimentally. Curling around him, with his own hardness pushing against Harry's hip, Sirius began stroking firmly, assaulting heated skin that had never before known another person's touch. Harry sucked in a deep breath and tried to hold it but soon his breathing was beyond his control. His eyes fell closed and he bit his lip to stop the cry that threatened to burst from his throat.

Sirius mouth descended on his then, and he swallowed down Harry's groans and whimpers. With his tongue, he coaxed the young man to open up, and simultaneously one of his fingertips teased the slit at the tip of Harry's cock. Hot breath mingled and Harry bucked into the hand that stroked him.

Sirius draped a leg over Harry's knees, rubbing himself against sweat-slicked skin. "I want you," he growled. "Want you so badly..."

Harry's fingers were lost in Sirius' hair. He felt a scorching heat wrapping around the base of his spine and there was a tingle working its way from his toes and upwards, through his body. He tried to roll onto his side – he needed to _move_, to do _something_ – but Sirius pushed him back down, kissing him hungrily. The stroking sped up, grew harder and bolder. Harry whimpered in earnest now, lost in a flood of new sensations. He was conscious of Sirius pushing against him and the hand that slid along his hard length. There was more friction now, his member leaking at the tip. He shuddered and he opened his mouth to scream but could make no sound. Instead he came, shaking forcefully and coating Sirius' hand with his release. His godfather gave in too; his roar echoed though Harry as he spiralled into a blinding light.

**TBC**


	15. A Walk in the Park

Oh, my lovelies, this chapter is so long overdue that it is not even fashionably late. But to make it up to you, I've made it rather long. If I fail to answer any reviews, please know that I am infinitely grateful that you're still around, reading my stuff and – hopefully – liking it. Thank you, all of you!

**Chapter 15 – A Walk in the Park**

Little by little, Harry's awareness of his surroundings returned to him. The first thing he noticed was that his body felt so heavy he doubted that he would ever move again. Then the full magnitude of what he had just done – what he and Sirius had just done – crashed down on him and his eyes flew open.

His godfather had not moved an inch. To be precise, not a single one of Sirius' body parts had moved an inch. His fingers were still curled around Harry's now flaccid length and his head was resting on Harry's chest. He lay with his eyes closed and his breathing was so slow and heavy that Harry was pretty sure he had fallen asleep.

Lifting his head just enough as to not disturb him, Harry found it hard not to stare at the image they made. Sirius was still fully dressed; the way he lay wrapped around Harry did nothing to suggest that his fly was open and that he'd just come all over his godson's hip.

Harry blushed furiously at the thought. He quickly lay back down again, wishing he knew what to do now. He was a little cold but he did not dare to speak up. Somehow it did not matter that this was Sirius lying here with him – that this was a man he had no reason to fear. That Sirius would never intentionally put him in a situation where Harry would doubt himself so much that he barely knew how to breathe. Only Sirius had done just that. It was not Harry but Sirius who was in control now, no matter how hard the latter slept; in this moment Sirius was the one with the knowledge and the power and there was not much left for Harry to do than hope he had not messed something up. Or would mess something up. If he got the chance.

Once again, very warily, he lifted his head to look down on the mess of black tresses that spread across his chest. His heart took a little dive for his stomach. He wanted so badly to twine his fingers into his godfather's hair, and so badly he wanted Sirius to assure him that it did not matter that he did not know what he was doing. Quite simply, Harry wanted Sirius to want him however inexperienced he was. And yet, there was no way Harry was going to tell his godfather that this was the first time he had come at someone else's touch, if Sirius had not figured that out already.

Even though he had been waiting for it, when Sirius finally stirred, Harry knew an illogical rush of fear through his breast. Sirius lifted his topmost leg off Harry to be able to stretch out completely beside him. In fact, he stretched like a lazy cat – which, a part of Harry's overworked brain generously informed him – was really odd since he was more likely to move like a dog.

"Mmm…" Sirius gave Harry's cock a gentle squeeze, and still with his eyes closed, smiled a slow, content smile. "If we stay like this for a while longer, I'll be glued to you."

It took a moment for Harry to realise that he was referring to the sticky release which had rapidly cooled on his skin. Harry cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should..."

"I hate that word... s_hould,_" Sirius complained. In a motion more fluid and elegant than Harry would have expected, Sirius propped himself up on one elbow. His eyes were a liquid pewter. And his voice rather throaty, sending a shiver down Harry's spine. "You regret what we did, Harry?"

"No." He shook his head awkwardly against the pillow.

Sirius' eyes narrowed to mere slits. "Are you quite sure of that?"

To tell the truth, Harry was not sure about anything any more but with Sirius pressing so close to him and – _oh god_ – tugging teasingly at the dark, wiry hairs at the base of his cock, he could only choke out a raspy 'Yes'.

He wondered if he had ever seen his godfather looking so pleased before. "Good. Very good, Harry," he murmured before joining their mouths in a long kiss.

There were so many questions that Harry wanted to ask him. Unfortunately, sorting out his jumbled thoughts, he was quickly learning, proved rather tricky with Sirius basically devouring him. While Harry's brain clouded over, his body seemed annoyingly ignorant of any impulses of chastity that randomly sprang to the surface. Sirius' fingertips were once again navigating through that thatch of dark hair and he cradled Harry's length in his hand both suggestively and almost reverently – a combination that Harry was fairly sure should be impossible but was also agonisingly enticing.

By the time the kiss ended, a peculiar light had settled in Sirius' eyes. "I think it is safe to assume that if James had seen this, he would have hexed my... Well, let's say he wouldn't have liked it."

"But we knew that already, didn't we?" said Harry, pleasantly surprised when he found that he still had a voice. However, for once, talking about his father was not something that Harry was too keen on doing. Not while Sirius lay stretched out like this against him, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Mm, definitely..." Sirius nodded slowly. "But before this happened – only this morning, if you like – _this _was only a hypothetical scenario. Now that we know for sure that it can happen, and that we liked it when it did happen – you _did _like it, didn't you, Harry? - it does take on the traits of a reality that your father would have disapproved of. Or hated it, I suppose. If he had seen us. All in all, I think we should – with the risk of coming off as heartless – be happy he isn't here."

Harry stared at him. "Who are you channelling?"

For a split second Sirius looked completely nonplussed, but then a smile began playing in the corner of his mouth and he bent down to press a kiss into Harry's skin, just below his left nipple. "You know... 'This morning' is not a good example."

"Why not?"

Sirius lifted his head to smirk at him. "Because ever since last night – and I will tell you that last night feels like a hell of long time ago – I've been pretty confident that I could somehow make you see how utterly boring 'hypothetical' is." He took a moment to, almost affectionately, pat Harry's flaccid cock. "And it didn't prove that difficult either."

When he turned back to face Harry, his smirk had blossomed all over his face. "'Difficult' is such a big word. I would have said 'hard' but that would be lying, after all. And, you know, I really don't mind big."

For the life of him, Harry could not come up with anything in response to that. If he had been the witty type, Sirius would not be chuckling right now, and looking extraordinarily delighted.

"I'm not that..." Harry gave an awkward, downwards nod. "I mean, you're much..."

To his relief Sirius took pity on him and did not force him to finish his sentence. Some of the glee was wiped from Sirius' features and a more serious expression took its place. "You have nothing to worry about, Harry," he said in a low voice that sort of managed to curl around his godson's spine. "Really, absolutely nothing."

With that, he released Harry's soft length and pushed himself into a sitting position, and then stood up, making no quick work of covering himself up. It was impossible for Harry to look away. Sirius still looked huge, despite him being all spent and sated. Or spent, at least, Harry corrected himself as the older man's greedy gaze skimmed over his still rather exposed form. Fumbling quite a bit, Harry hasted to tuck his cock inside his boxers and drag his jeans into place.

It certainly was not the nakedness in itself that made his heart and stomach change places in his body. He had seen naked blokes before. But none of them had been hard, and none of them had been Sirius.

Then again, he did not see why Quidditch should make you so excited that you needed to relive the pressure in the shower afterwards. If you were not Oliver Wood, that was... But if _his_ passion for Quidditch had generated such consequences, he had dealt with them in private.

"Harry?" Sirius was watching him with a furrowed brow. "You all right?"

"Oh, yeah..." He pushed the unwelcome images of Wood from his mind. "I'm fine." He slid off the sofa, his muscles protesting when blood flowed back to them.

He made to fetch his t-shirt from the floor, but Sirius' hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Hey."

He caught Harry's gaze and the younger man was helplessly lost in a sea of silvery grey. Sirius' hand slid down to his waist and pulled him closer. "You're not just walking away with a 'fine', Harry."

"I wasn't." His voice sounded strangled to his own ears as Sirius dipped a finger beneath the waistline of his jeans.

Sirius leaned in, dragging his lips down Harry's throat and leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Harry swallowed hard as his godfather drew a deep breath and exhaled just as slowly, before his stubble once again rasped against the sensitive skin.

"You smell of me," murmured Sirius. "You've got my release drying on your skin and you smell of me. I'm not letting you go so soon, Harry."

Harry's throat was dry. He tried to breathe evenly and will his heart to stop trying to burst out of his chest. "I wasn't," he repeated meekly.

And then, for the first time ever, he dared to reciprocate. He pressed against Sirius' chest, deeper into his embrace and kissed his lips and, pushing aside his hair, the spot just beneath his earlobe. His godfather exhaled again, his fingertips travelling up and down Harry's back, making him shiver.

"Now that's more like it," purred Sirius contentedly. "I knew you weren't a lost cause."

Harry squeezed his eyes firmly shut and convinced his hands to park themselves in the shallow bay that was the small of Sirius' back. When the world did not end, he forced them further down until his palms rested against the coarse denim of Sirius' trousers. His godfather made an odd sound in the back of his throat and once more Harry's neck was being assaulted by eager lips. In this moment, Harry would have given his wand for some more courage but when none came to him, he mentally scratched a visit to Ollivander's (provided the old wizard would reopen his shop in Diagon Alley) off his to-do list. He was rather relieved when Sirius gently pulled away.

"Let's not..." His godfather's eyes were glowing.

Harry nodded, momentarily unable to speak.

Sirius lifted a hand and ran his knuckles lightly down his cheek. "We have all the time in the world." He smiled – a blessedly normal and uncomplicated smile. "We should get cleaned up."

"Yeah..."

"If..."

"If what?"

"Well..." Sirius bit his lip and his gaze dashed towards the window. "If you're not up for a walk...?"

Harry looked up at him questioningly. "You want to go for a walk?"

"Hey... I've been floating around among the dead for two years... and I haven't set foot outside this front door for... well, ever since I came back, really. And the visit to the Ministry doesn't count." He winked at Harry. "I'll be a good dog and catch every stick you throw at me."

Harry opened his mouth to protest. It was mere instinct. Impulse. It was too dangerous for Sirius to outside and... He closed it again. "_Every _stick?" He would not let Sirius have all the fun. Besides, Harry could use some exercise too.

At his words, there was a gleam in his godfather's eyes. Harry gasped when Sirius slid a hand in between their bodies and rubbed it against his crotch. "Oh, if it's nice and hard, Harry, I'll fetch it. I'll take it it my mouth, I'll do with it whatever you want me to do..."

"Um... right." Harry swallowed, blood rushing to his cheeks at the thought. The idea of Sirius sucking him off made him tingle all over. _And_ so nervous he feared he would throw up this very moment.

Sirius only chuckled. "Let's not go there just yet. We can start by going to the park?" He sounded more hopeful than anything else. He extracted his hand from its new hiding place and raked it through his tangled hair before smiling sweetly down at Harry. "Please?"

Harry could not help but smile in return. "All right. We'll go to the park."

o.O.o

"It's going to rain," Harry stated as he peered out of the battered door to number twelve, Grimmauld Place. "Look at those clouds..."

No more had he said so before Padfoot burst out of the house and nearly tumbled down the worn stone steps.

"Hey!" Harry called after him. "Hold on!" He shot the empty umbrella stand a glare, the very same stand that Tonks always knocked over when she came here. With a pang he realised that she would never do it again. Shoving the thought aside, he hastened to close the door behind him and tapped it with the tip of his wand. On the other side of the thick wood, he heard the locks give a series of clicks.

When he turned around he discovered that Padfoot was already busy shoving his nose at the shabby bushes in the small square and sniffing for all he was worth. His tail wagging joyously, he did not seem to mind the cool wind and the occasional raindrops that landed in his fur. Harry pulled his jacket tighter around him, wished he had his cloak, and trudged down the steps.

"To think it's May," he muttered to himself as he watched the big dog race around the square. "Where's is that park anyway?" he asked a little louder, finally catching Padfoot's attention.

His answer was a loud bark and then there was nothing more for him to do than make sure he kept up with Padfoot's pace. Another gust of wind hauled itself at him as he raced after the black dog.

"Padfoot! Hey! Sirius!"

With his heart pounding, Harry sped down the street, relieved at least that it lay abandoned. He turned one corner, and then a second, his eyes frantically glued on the mess of black fur ahead of him.

"_Sirius!"_

He was so focused on the dog that he almost crashed into the rusty fence. His breaths were tearing through his lungs and there was a faint taste of blood in his mouth.

Padfoot had stopped too, panting and with his tongue lolling, but looking as exhilarated as dog possibly could.

"For fuck's sake, Sirius!" Harry was shaking, clutching his wand in his hand. "There are _cars _out here! You could have been hit!" He flung his arms out in some desperate form of clarification. "What kind of idiocy–"

Something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Stopping mid-sentence, he shot a glance over his shoulder and saw an old lady in a dusky pink coat watching him with a distinct look of disapproval.

Quickly slipping his wand into his sleeve, Harry turned back to Padfoot. "Come on," he muttered. "Let's get this over with."

The park was small and far from impressive. Muddy pools and puddles created a grey-brown patchwork upon the hesitant grass. Harry shivered in the wind and wished he'd taken the time to find a scarf in some forgotten drawer or closet. Padfoot walked beside him, uncharacteristically meek.

"I'm serious," said Harry, as soon as he deemed they were out of earshot. "You could have gotten yourself killed. If you're not going to behave, I'll have to find a leash for you." He ignored the small whimper that greeted his words.

Rather demonstratively, he stopped under a large elm. "So," he nodded at Padfoot, "go play."

But the dog did not move. It peered up at him and Harry could have sworn he saw a trace of worry in its eyes.

Harry sighed. There was an uncomfortable feeling rising in his chest. He dropped his gaze to the ground and tried to make sense of it. His throat felt tight. "You scared me, all right?" He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, refusing to look directly at Padfoot. "And you can forget that stick throwing business," he added just because it felt good.

Or rather, he felt lousy, but now it was too late. For a little while they both remained still, but eventually curiosity took over and Padfoot began sniffing the ground. Watching him, paws wet and muddy, with his nose buried deep in the grass, Harry finally began to relax again. He blamed the rain and the wind for his eyes tearing up as he once more gave silent thanks for the fact that Sirius was _alive. _

He prodded the ground with his toes and wondered if he ever again would be able to think clearly. He squinted at Padfoot, trying to look past the tangled fur, searching for the man that he also was. Seeing Sirius like this, in his dog form, was something that Harry realised he had missed badly.

Motionless, he stood beneath the elm as the rain wet his hair and shoulders. Padfoot rummaged around in the nearby bushes, all in all appearing very unlike the man that had kissed Harry, and touched him, and made him come in the drawing room in the ancient Black residence. Harry wondered what curses and foul words Mrs Black would drown him in if she ever found out. He could not be sure but he hoped his father would have been less judgemental. Suddenly Harry felt very tired. He could not even work up the energy to pull out his wand and produce a charm to keep him warm. It was as though he had been drained.

The winds continued to roll in over the grass and he blinked away his tears. He missed his dad, and his mum... he missed George and Lupin and Tonks... He missed Dumbledore. All he had left was this stupid black dog that he once had been sure was out to kill him – this ball of fur and mud that was currently digging a neat hole in ground and tearing at the root of some tree or another. Harry smiled reluctantly through his tears. Padfoot was digging eagerly with his tail whipping around happily in the rain. Harry had this hairy monster and...

...and he had a whole family of Weasleys whom he loved dearly. He had Hermione whom, despite her annoying intelligence and self-righteousness, he loved just as much. There was Kingsley... and Luna... and Neville... and Hagrid and McGonagall...

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand before shoving them back on to his nose. Here and there on the grass lay sticks and twigs and he bent to pick one up.

"Padfoot?"

The dog looked up at his second call. He had his paws securely on the stubborn root.

Harry held up the stick. "Fetch?"

o.O.o

The journey back to the house was completed at a much slower pace. Since they were already drenched there really was no point in hurrying. Content, Padfoot trotted along by Harry's side, through the pouring rain, and with the stick held captive by sharp canines. The streets still lay mostly deserted, but now and then a car sped by, sending water splashing over the pavement.

Together they climbed the steps leading up to number twelve and Harry tapped the door with his wand, grateful when it swung open to let them both into the hallway that no one else would ever have guessed was there.

The gas lamps flickered on as the gloom embraced them. Harry looked down at Padfoot. "You need a bath." He rubbed his frozen hands together to force some warmth back into them. "And so do I – a really warm one."

Padfoot was given no chance to respond for an audible _crack _sliced through the air and Kreacher appeared in the dim light. He had wound what looked like a soiled towel around his stooped and gnarled form and he looked as spiteful as ever, though his eyes were gleaming with curiosity.

"Master Harry Potter has returned..." he shot Padfoot a disgusted glare, "with the dog."

"Kreacher," said Harry quickly, before things spiralled out of control. "We both need to clean up but then we'd really like something to eat...?"

The house-elf turned to him, looking almost thoughtful. "Harry Potter did not have breakfast this morning," he observed quietly. "Kreacher heard master and the... _dog_... in the drawing room earlier, but he would not go inside."

Padfoot let out a low growl.

"Kreacher would never disturb his master when he does not wish to be disturbed," continued Kreacher, with his malicious glare fastened upon Padfoot. "Kreacher knows when he is not wanted. Spells and charms speak loud and clear to Kreacher."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. He wondered what it was the house-elf had heard, or what he knew or suspected. "Um, would you mind preparing lunch?" he asked, hoping his voice did not betray him.

Kreacher tore his gaze from Padfoot and gave a stiff bow. He muttered something under his breath that Harry could not make out. Then he was gone with another _crack_.

"Come on," mumbled Harry, eyes still on the spot where Kreacher had stood. "Let's find some warm water."

With Padfoot in his wake, he steered towards the bathroom on the first floor, very conscious of the trail of wet footprints they left behind.

"All right," he said, for lack of better words, when he had closed the door behind them. Without further ado he set to work, turning on the taps and making sure the water was warm enough. He was so engrossed in his task that he did not notice the shift in the air behind him. "Do you want to go first?"

"Do _you _want me to go first?"

At the sound of Sirius' voice, Harry jumped. Spinning around, he choked on a breath. In the place where Padfoot had sat, his godfather now stood, smeared with mud and stark naked. Harry felt the stone floor shift beneath him. Sirius was watching him intently, with wet strands of coal black hair falling into his face, but looking so much like a _man – _a very naked _man – _that Harry had trouble understanding it.

The sound of the water rushing into the bathtub roared in tune with Harry's blood. Sirius was coming closer; the bathroom suddenly felt enormous and Sirius looked as though he were a million miles away. And yet Harry could barely breathe because the space was so tiny.

"I think Kreacher suspects something," he heard himself saying. "He wouldn't have..." He swallowed as Sirius' hands landed on his waist. "He..."

"You're all wet, Harry," murmured Sirius. "We really should get you out of these clothes."

"Kreacher..."

"Like these jeans, for example..." Sirius clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "You would do so much better without them."

"But..."

"Harry." Sirius flicked open the top button easily. "I appreciate what you're saying. I hear you. And you're probably right." He flicked open the next one. "But you're also soaked through and..." he glanced over Harry's shoulder, "you could use some warming up."

It was not magic – it could not be. And yet Harry's resolve melted like ice cream in sunlight at his godfather's words and the dangerously sweet tone of his voice. He let Sirius undress him, obediently toeing off his trainers when Sirius mumbled 'shoes', and raising his arms when Sirius made to haul his sweater over his head.

The jeans his godfather mostly ignored, however. Even after he had dealt with all the buttons, they were only gifted a quick glance or two. Somewhere mid-process, Sirius reached around Harry to turn off the taps, effectively plunging the bathroom into silence.

Sirius ran his fingertips up and down Harry's chest, exploring his collar bones and circling his nipples with a forefinger. Harry was not sure what he felt apart from the tangling of fear, expectation and delight that made his stomach twist itself into a knot.

"I'm sorry about earlier," said Sirius quietly. "I wasn't thinking."

"You were a dog," managed Harry, wondering if he had ever sounded more stupid.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. One of his hands landed anew on one of Harry's hips. "You were right, though... It'd be rather pointless if I died in a car accident, after all."

Harry swallowed as one questing finger dove inside his unbuttoned jeans. "Yeah," he said, with some difficulty. "Really pointless..."

"Harry... I'm in no position to pretend I'm not affected by you."

The first finger was joined by another and Harry let out a new gasp as they found his cock somewhere in the mass of fabric. His eyes darted to Sirius groin and could see for himself that his godfather had not been lying. Sirius' own length jutted out from his body, an overwhelmingly clear indicator of exactly how honest he had been.

"I'd very much like for us both to get warm," said Sirius in a low voice that made something honeylike slither down Harry's spine. "Shall we?"

Even though he tried, it was hard to not stare at Sirius' erection as he climbed into the bath. Hesitating, Harry fingered the waistband of his jeans, watching as Sirius settled down with his back against the black stone and stretching out his long legs before him. He had forgotten he was cold and he had definitely forgotten that he was supposed to be hungry.

In the end he pushed the fabric down, and with a feeling of dread twining around his senses, gave his boxers the same treatment until both they and his jeans bunched around his ankles.

"Come here, Harry." Sirius was not teasing and not smirking. In fact, he looked relaxed, and there was a gentleness settling in his features.

Moving closer to the edge of the bathtub, Harry had never felt more self-conscious. He kept his gaze trained on the water that lapped at Sirius chest, thinking that his godfather ought to put on a few pounds...

"Climb in," Sirius ordered softly.

And Harry did. The water, he discovered, was perhaps a bit too warm but it did not seem to bother him as Sirius helped to ease him down so that he rested against his godfather's chest. He tensed involuntarily as he felt Sirius' arousal press against the small of his back but soon hands skimmed his chest, sending ripples of underwater currents across his skin. Kisses were pressed into his hair and left on his neck and shoulder. Yet, there was nothing demanding about them. After a little while, even the presence of the hard length that so insistently pushed against him turned into an almost beautiful thing; this was the evidence of how much he was wanted and for as long as he could feel it, he need not doubt.

When the caresses grew bolder, Harry closed his eyes and surrendered. There was too much warmth here, too much gentleness and softness to be scared. He let Sirius drag his fingers over his cock and it twitched in response. When Sirius' hands coaxed his legs apart, he willingly obliged, allowing his godfather to explore whatever he wished. It was only when Sirius' slipped a hand underneath him and a finger found its way to his entrance that his eyes flew open again and he jerked away from it.

"Hush." The finger disappeared and Sirius' arms wrapped around him firmly to keep him in place. "Just..."

Warily, Harry leaned back again, eliciting a groan from Sirius when he, more accidentally than intentionally, rubbed against his godfather's hard cock. Instinctively, he sat up again, suddenly overcome by the possibilities.

Drawing a deep breath, he shuffled around in the narrow space so that he could face the older man. This time he maintained eye contact as he reached downwards and for the first time touched Sirius properly.

Grey eyes widened in shock and lips parted to ask questions that Harry did not know how to answer. His godfather was hard and heavy in his hand which Harry was sure trembled. But it would have been worse had it been Ginny. As it was, Harry was a bloke himself and he was not _completely_ clueless.

The first stroke made Sirius freeze. The second made him draw a shallow breath, which he let go by the third. Harry was grateful for the water doing its fair share in easing the friction. Now that he was finally doing this, he could not tear his eyes away from Sirius' face. The older man's cheeks were flushed and the shock he felt was obvious in the way he still seemed to want to say something. He did not, however, as Harry kept up his ministrations, his hand sliding up and down his godfather's pounding length.

Harry tried to keep the pace even but as his fear gradually gave way, he grew somewhat bolder. He renewed his hold on his godfather's cock, grasping it firmly and giving it a decisive tug. He rejoiced inwardly as Sirius' gave a cry and his eyes flickered shut. He picked up speed then, and increased the pressure of the strokes. Sirius' head restlessly fell to the side and he let out a small moan. Harry could not help but smile at the reaction and courage blossomed in his chest. Shifting and changing his position where he crouched between Sirius' legs, he caressed any available patch of skin with his free hand, pleased beyond words when the older man bucked his hips, sending some of the water over the edge.

Struck by a sudden idea, Harry leaned in and brushed his lips against Sirius'. He was not prepared for the result, however, and almost lost his balance as his godfather's tongue drove into his mouth with a force that Harry had not expected. Sirius kissed him hungrily and demandingly; there was nothing left of that gentleness. Harry did his best to continue stroking him but it grew more and more difficult as Sirius' hands were now all over him, caressing his arms, his hips, his thighs... And to Harry's surprise, his godfather suddenly tore his hand from his cock and dragged Harry down to lay upon him.

The water splashed down on to the floor as Harry struggled to comply and Sirius growl blended with his own cry of surprise as their groins came together. The arrangement was utterly uncomfortable but the feeling gloriously amazing as Sirius rubbed himself hard against Harry and his groans echoed around them. Sirius came with a force that nearly threatened to drown them both.

Afterwards, Harry thought it safe to assume that not only Sirius' world had been unexpectedly turned upside-down. The water, he noticed now, had cooled, his back was aching, and his glasses were slipping off his nose, but he was so proud of himself that he probably ought to be ashamed. Turning his head carefully, he smiled at the black stone.

Sirius gave another groan, but a different one this time. "Oh, blessed Merlin..." He pressed a kiss into Harry's hair. "I'll never ask for anything ever again."

Laughing, Harry attempted to sit up. His heart felt light as a feather. He pushed his glasses back into place. "Am I supposed to believe that?"

Sirius opened one eye and peered up at him. "Nah, you'd just get disappointed."

"Then you'd better be quiet," suggested Harry.

"And you'll do this again?"

Nodding slowly, Harry could not keep from grinning. "Yeah. It was a walk in the park."

**TBC**


	16. The Note and the Question

I know... it's been a while... ehrm. Sorry?

I hope you are all well, out there in the big world.

All right. Here we go!

**Chapter 16 – The Note and the Question**

The rain kept up its steady pounding on the windows for most of the day, and well into evening. Around six o'clock it looked as though the sun would make an attempt to peer through the clouds but that hope was chased away by strong winds that pushed a new blanket of clouds across the sky. From where he sat on the sofa in the drawing-room, Harry had a good view of the small square outside and could see the leaves rattling among the branches of the gnarled bushes, which in turn obediently bent downwards as the rain came slashing down.

It felt strange not having to think about something in particular. He could not remember the last time he had not been expected to solve some problem, figure out the answer to some riddle or another... All that was expected of him in this moment was to stare out into the pouring rain. He sat rolling his wand between his fingers and doing a not too impressive job of sorting out the feelings this day had evoked in him.

The more he analysed them, the more his hold on them lessened, until they seemed to hover just out of reach. He held up his wand in the failing daylight. "_Accio _feelings."

Upon a shelf in one of the glass-fronted cabinets across the room, a small silvery bowl swung onto its side, seemed to hesitate, and then dropped back into its previous position. Harry regarded it doubtfully. "Well, I suppose that settles it," he told the surrounding silence, "at least I haven't turned greedy."

He felt curiously empty. He had spent lunch feeling a bit overwhelmed, and had had a rather tricky time dealing with it. Every time he'd looked at Sirius, the other man had returned his gaze with a decidedly content grin. They had not spoken much, for which Harry was grateful since he really had no idea what one said to the man one had, only minutes before, lain pressed against in a bathtub.

The fleeting sense of victory he had experience in that above mentioned bathtub had paved the way for a more sombre outlook. It was odd to discover that apparently his inability to feel very proud of himself for succeeding in a trial also applied to his... well, his... his... _sex life._

And so he had spent the afternoon in a state of surprise bordering on disappointment. Sirius must have noticed his need for some time alone because the older man had disappeared upstairs soon after they had finished their lunch, with only a chaste kiss to Harry's cheek and asking no questions.

Harry did not know what he had expected but admitted to a small dose of relief. But now as evening wore on, he once again grew a bit lonely and contemplated going in search of his godfather. No more had he decided on this before a uncharacteristically loud crack in the fireplace whipped him around and his heart leapt into his throat as a hiss of green flames revealed a tall figure swathed in a dark cloak.

Even before he was standing, Harry was pointing his wand at the newcomer. And then, equally quickly, his hand fell to his side.

"Mr Weasley?"

"Harry!" Mr Weasley held up his hands, the harmless flames licking lazily at his cloak. "It's only me."

The sudden rush of adrenaline that had made Harry's senses rush to attention abated and he dropped back into the sofa. His knuckles were white around his wand.

Stepping out of the fire, Mr Weasley brushed some of the ash from his well-worn leather loafers. "I should have sent a Patronus in advance, perhaps," he said ruefully as he regarded Harry with obvious concern. "I did not mean to scare you."

Harry shook his head. "No... I just..." He made an awkward gesture with his free hand. He was still reluctant, he discovered, to let go of his wand.

Mr Weasley nodded. "All the same, Harry, I'm sorry I frightened you." He glanced around the room. "Is Sirius here?"

"He's upstairs... doing something."

"Right. Ah, well... It's you I've come to see." He made his way over to one of the armchairs. "May I?"

"Sure."

Watching Mr Weasley sink down in his seat, Harry wondered if he was imagining a sudden tension in the air between them. He had always had the deepest respect for Ron's father and they had always gotten along very well but now there seemed to be some kind of distance between them.

"Molly sends her love," Mr Weasley began, his kind eyes searching Harry's face. "And wishes me to let you know that if you change your mind you are welcome to The Burrow at any time of day... or night. She's worried about you."

"I know," said Harry, more stiffly than he had intended. "But I'm staying here. And I'm fine."

"Yes, I thought you would say as much. But in case... Well, you'll come by to visit, won't you, eh?" Mr Weasley's smile did not quite reach his eyes. "You're part of the family, Harry," he added, more seriously.

"Yeah... I know." Feeling a bit guilty, Harry nodded. "You've done so much for me and it's not that I don't _want _to stay with you..." He trailed off, not knowing how to explain without telling the truth. During the silence that followed he forbade himself to evade Mr Weasley's inquisitive gaze.

In the end, the older man nodded. "All right," he said, as thus summed the matter up. He sat up a little straighter. "Now, he reached inside his cloak and pulled something out of a pocket. "This was sent to me by owl post but I do believe it was intended for you? It's a summons... to a trial...?" There was a faint reproachful note in his voice.

Harry immediately got to his feet. "The Malfoy trial?" he asked, accepting a crumpled piece of parchment from Mr Weasley. It did not look very official at all, and on closer inspection it proved to be a hastily scribbled message on a soiled corner of parchment that must have been torn off from a larger sheet.

"The very one, I believe."

The rain had gotten to the ink but Harry could make out a place and a date. Momentarily confused he frowned. He had not had much reason to keep track of the dates for a few days now. "But... it's... it's tomorrow!"

"So it is," said Mr Weasley, apparently expecting some explanation, but not about to press for one just yet.

Recalling Dumbledore's surprise arrival at Harry's disciplinary hearing at the Ministry almost three years ago, he also remembered the old Headmaster's words about being there several hours in advance, in the event that the time and place of the proceedings had been changed. Which indeed had been the case. "They don't want me there," he said, unable to keep some disbelief mingled with anger from leaking into his voice.

"If you mean to spare the Malfoys a lifetime in Azkaban, probably no," agreed Mr Weasley, still without betraying his innermost feelings on the subject.

"Only Draco and his mum," said Harry, for the hundredth time that week. "They don't deserve that."

Mr Weasley took off his glasses and polished them with a corner of his robe. "Would you say that Lucius does?"

Weary to the bone of the subject, and under the scrutiny of Mr Weasley, Harry no longer had an immediate answer to that. With the note in his hand, he wandered over to the window. "I don't know," he admitted, even as a small voice in the back of his head suggested that Harry should let Draco's father rot in whatever cell the Ministry found suitable for the purpose. Lucius Malfoy never treated Harry or his friends with anything but contempt, and he had most likely done his share of killing and torturing.

"In any case, I don't know what I can say to change his fate." Harry shrugged. "Lucius never tried to help us."

"Maybe he did not have much of a choice," suggested Mr Weasley softly, slipping his glasses on to his nose again.

Harry snorted. "We all had a choice!" He spun to face Ron's father. "Are you defending him?"

Mr Weasley gave him a small smile. "No. I don't think it is much of a secret that there is no love lost between me and Lucius Malfoy."

Harry immediately regretted his little outburst. "Sorry," he said, grimacing. "It's just... everything, you know." Judging it wise to change to subject, he asked, "How are things at The Burrow?"

Mr Weasley sighed. He suddenly looked very tired. "I'm not sure. Molly was scrubbing the kitchen when I left. She's..." Then he seemed to remember that he was speaking with his youngest son's friend and not one of his own, and he dragged up a fatherly smile. "It will be well, Harry. It will take some time, but it will all be well."

He got to his feet and shook out his robes. "I should get back. I will tell Molly that you are still quite determined to stay here."

"Thanks," said Harry. "I... well, I want to be with Sirius." He hoped his words sounded as innocent as he had meant them to.

Mr Weasley nodded, but his expression was thoughtful. "Yes, I suppose I see why you would." He scooped up a handful of Floo powder from the bowl on the mantelpiece, but made no move towards the flames. "Good luck at the Ministry tomorrow, Harry. And... be careful"

Harry gave a small smile. "I will, thanks. They can't really do anything to me now."

Mr Weasley's gaze searched his face. Tossing the Floo powder on to the flames, he stated his destination and then climbed into the grate. "I do not mean only at the Ministry, Harry," he said softly before he was gone in a flash of green.

Harry stood staring after him for a good long while. He wondered if Mr Weasley suspected something, or worse, if he _knew_. But Harry had said nothing that betrayed the events of the day, and they had barely spoken of Sirius. A nervous churning in his stomach suggested to him that perhaps it was not that easy, but he pushed this idea aside.

Holding out the piece of parchment naming the date and place of the first Malfoy trial (tomorrow at eleven, courtroom number six) he pointed his wand to it.

"_Wingardium leviosa."_

He released it when the magic took hold of it. It gave him something to do, something else to think of, and he guided the note before him as he went his way downstairs to the kitchen. There he found Kreacher in the process of making Shepard's pie and the house-elf seemed not to happy to be disturbed.

"Can Kreacher help master Harry Potter?" he croaked, shooting Harry a suspicions glance. His bloodshot eyes were somewhat obscured by the steam rising from a pot on the stove.

"No, no... I just came to have a glass of water," said Harry, the first thing that popped into his head. He was not really sure why he was here at all. He kept the tip of his wand pointing at the note that hovered in mid-air. "But I can get it myself."

Kreacher ignored him as he did this, and went on ignoring as Harry leaned against the edge of the table, the glass in his other, free, hand.

"Do you ever get bored of this place?" Harry asked eventually.

The house-elf muttered something under his breath as he produced a dusty glass bowl from a cupboard. It did not sound like a curse but Harry could not be sure. He let Kreacher wash the bowl and dry it before he tried again.

"Well, do you?"

The separate words were nearly drenched in the hiss, "Kreacher would never be bored in his mistress' house."

"No? Never?" He let the piece of parchment zoom towards the ceiling and circle the heavy chandelier, mindful of the candle flames.

"That would be bringing shame upon his Mistress," huffed Kreacher. "Master," he amended when Harry sent him a dubious glance.

"So even if I gave you leave to go out, you wouldn't?"

There was a moment's silence before the elf croaked, "Kreacher goes where his master orders him."

"If you had a choice, I mean?" He made the note spiral down towards the tabletop by moving his wand in small circles and simultaneously lowering it.

Kreacher gave a derisive snort. "House-elves do not have choices, master Harry Potter."

"Hermione wants to change that," Harry ventured. Just as the parchment brushed the wooden surface, he jerked the wand upright again and the note shot upwards.

"Foolish humans think they can change the rules," muttered Kreacher under his breath as he shuffled over to the table, carrying a pitcher of pumpkin juice. He shot the wand in Harry's grasp a contemptuous glare and growled something inaudible.

"Can't they?" asked Harry as he moved aside to let Kreacher dress the table.

His question earned him a glare for himself and the elf's face twisted into an expression of unveiled disgust. His voice was slightly sharper when he cried, "Kreacher is loyal to the House of Black!"

"Of course you are!" Harry hastened to say and momentarily forgot about the note he was levitating. It came spiralling down again, but faster now, and landed in the salad bowl, on top of a slice of tomato.

They both stared at it, Harry trying to keep from laughing and Kreacher looking as though he would very much have liked to throw Harry into the oven.

"No respect," the elf grumbled, more to himself than to Harry. "No respect... When young Master Regulus was alive, _he _would show Kreacher respect... But his brother..." he shook his little ugly head. "Just the same as Harry Potter..."

"I'm sorry," said Harry and quickly snatched the note from the salad.

Kreacher did not appear to care, however. He was shaking with suppressed rage as he hobbled back to the stove. His voice was a snarl when he spoke. "Harry Potter can tell the dog that dinner is served."

o.O.o

Over dinner, Harry told Sirius about Mr Weasley's visit, but kept his admonishments to himself. He did not think that Sirius needed to hear anything more about Mrs Weasley's disapproval of his choice of home and, in any case, it was a moot point. Harry had made his choice and it made no sense discussing it any further. And especially not with Sirius who was of the same opinion as Harry himself was.

They were seated opposite one another and more than once Harry found himself blushing as Sirius' gaze wandered over him, or he grinned in a particularly suggestive way. His godfather was dressed in jeans and another one of those black t-shirts of his, this one with some faded design in grey and red on it. It looked very much like the kind of t-shirts Dudley had squeezed himself into when he was of a mind to rebel against his mother and her slightly more conservative tastes. As far as Harry knew, Dudley had never been to a rock concert in his entire life, but occasionally liked looking as though he had. Not that Harry had been to one either, but that was not the point.

"So you still mean to go?" Sirius speared a slice of carrot on his fork and popped it into his mouth. He did not look very pleased but at least it he seemed to have understood that arguing about it would not serve to shift Harry's convictions.

"Yes," Harry nodded. "I don't know if it will make any difference but I will go."

Sirius, for his part, shook his head. "You're too good."

"I'm not. It's just the decent thing to do."

His godfather winked at him. "Then you're too decent."

Harry grinned. In spite of the seemingly endless blushing he engaged in as soon as Sirius' gaze turned particularly appraising, he liked this. He liked being able to have dinner with his godfather in some sort of peace without having to bother about hiding his feelings (though he supposed he still was not exactly advertising them, even now when there was only the two of them) or worrying about what Sirius was thinking (that showed pretty clearly in his eyes from time to time) or constantly fearing that the Weasleys and Hermione were figuring things out. And even though the current focus of their conversation was on the Malfoys and matters pertaining to the war, Harry was comfortable.

"So have you written a speech or something like that?" Sirius' smirk was sardonic.

"No," said Harry, very much feeling as though he would have liked to roll his eyes – and finding that it might have worked, too, because Sirius seemed to be in a good mood. "I don't even know what will happen once they get started. I had that hearing of my own, you remember, the one at the start of my fifth year."

Sirius nodded but said nothing. Maybe his jaw clenched a little.

"And," Harry went on quickly, not too keen to dwell on anything that had happened during his fifth year at Hogwarts. Or, rather, what had happened outside the school, but also in his fifth year, but towards the end of it. "And then there was that trial with Umbridge during the war, when we stole the locket from her... And the old ones I saw in Dumbledore's Pensieve. But I suppose," he made a face, "I _hope_, that this one will be different."

"Meaning that you're hoping for some good old justice to prevail."

"Of course I am," said Harry. "Listen, I know you don't think tha–"

But his godfather held up a hand to silence him. "Let's not go there," he said. He gave a small and surprisingly gentle smile. "I know what you know that I think and all the rest of it, but... I do admire you, Harry." Pushing aside his glass with pumpkin juice, he leaned forwards a little. He looked serious. "You have seen enough to become jaded, and distrustful, to say the least, of everything and everyone. And yet, you still believe in some... goodness..."

It had not been a question and yet he made it sound almost like one. Harry shrugged. "I guess I have to." Sirius' words reminded him, in an odd and twisted way, about the notion of the 'greater good' that Dumbledore had pursued in his younger days and it made him uneasy. "I've seen lots of good stuff too," he said. "And look at Voldemort, who didn't really trust anyone, and who was blind to every form of love or goodwill. Look at what he turned into..."

He had not meant to so causally throw the word 'love' out there, but now he could not take it back. Even contained in the same sentence as 'Voldemort' it was still a very big word that held far too much meaning for him these days to be blurted out just like that. Sirius did not comment on it, however, but took Harry by surprise when he pushed back his chair, stood, and extended a hand. "Come."

His godfather's hand closed around his own and felt warm. Harry let himself be pulled to his feet and without another word from either of them, allowed Sirius to conduct him up the stairs, and further up, until they were standing outside the door to Sirius' bedroom, on the fourth floor.

Up here it was gloomy and it was as though the rain and wind of the past days had worked their way through the walls. Harry shivered as a draft made itself known. He had come to stand behind Sirius and now the older man threw a glance over his shoulder – the sort of glance Harry was quite sure he'd never seen Sirius throw before; it held a hint of shyness and... he looked almost apologetic... or was he nervous? - before sliding the door open. Peering around his godfather, Harry could not hide his surprise.

The bedroom had been cleaned, top to bottom. The carpet was still threadbare and faded but was not dusty any more. The same went for the velvet curtains. The wooden panels were scrubbed clean and so also was the large bed with its carved headboard and the wardrobe. Here and there, there were still dents in the wood, and markings and scars, but the surfaces gleamed dully in the dreary light. A coverlet that once upon a time must have been a glorious show of rich red and gold was meticulously spread atop the bed and even Mrs Weasley would have been impressed by the lack of creases in it. Fresh candles had been placed in the chandelier above and a new load of wood was stacked in a corner near the fireplace... with its grate still covered in soot.

Sirius must have followed his gaze because he grinned self-consciously. "Oh, yeah, I forgot about that..."

Turning to him, Harry did not know what to say. He was pretty sure Sirius had not dragged him up here only to show off his housekeeping abilities but he did not want to jump to conclusions too quickly. "It's..." He spread his hands. "Wow."

Shrugging, Sirius' grin turned somewhat crooked. "Most of the stuff I dumped in Regulus' room. Kreacher will have a fit, I suppose, when he finds it."

"He'll probably throw everything away," said Harry.

"I don't really mind." Sirius shrugged, too. "It might be a good thing. Perhaps _ he _will clean _that_ room... to rid it of my filth." His grin had faltered so much now that it had no chance of reaching his eyes. More of that nervousness Harry had detected before scuttled across his face.

Harry' own smile was a bit off balance as well. "Yeah."

There was a moment of complete silence during which Harry could think of nothing else to do but shift his weight from one foot to the other.

"So," said Sirius, at last. "I guess I'm asking you to, if you would... I mean, I know you have your own room downstairs but I'd like it if you..." He raked a hand through his hair. "Shit."

"What?"

"I'm a fucking grown man and I can't even ask you..." After an exhale, Sirius seemed to collect himself. "Would you sleep here... with me?"

Looking up into those grey eyes, Harry's heart made a little jump in his breast, reaching for his throat. He nodded. "I'd like that."

"Good." Sirius exhaled again, and this time a wide smile trailed in its wake. "Good." He shook his head. "It wasn't this hard when I was young."

"You're still young," said Harry automatically.

Sirius' expression changed again and a more sombre look settled in his features. He opened his mouth to say something but in the end stayed silent. Lifting a hand to Harry's cheek, he cupped it and bent to press a kiss to his lips. It was over in a heartbeat, but still it made Harry feel warm all over.

"I'm sorry if I've rushed you into... well, into things," said Sirius quietly. "I did not mean to. It's just that..." In the end he gave no explanation but covered Harry's mouth with his own a second time, and the new kiss was longer, but still fairly chaste. When they parted, he managed to look both rueful and happy, in a not wholly unappealing fashion. "We'll only sleep tonight. Promise."

Harry wanted to ask him what it was exactly that had made it so hard for Sirius to abstain from touching him, but he was too shocked at the relief that flooded him at the promise of simply sleeping beside each other to find the proper words. It was not that he did not _want _to explore things with his godfather, he figured, but there was only so much he could handle in so many hours, after all.

Forgetting all of tomorrow's impending troubles, he smiled up at Sirius and found it very easy to breathe.

**TBC**


	17. The Chief Warlock

Ehrm, right. It's been a while. I know some of you have been waiting... Sorry...

To all of you who have reviewed of late – thank you! And a special, huge, thank you to "semi anonymous" reviewer Kristen for your lovely comment a few days back! Oh my... All that praise... :) I can't get back to you but please know how happy your review made me and I do hope you will like this next instalment.

**Chapter 17 – The Chief Warlock**

Sirius stayed true to his word. He _did _steal a couple of glances at Harry as the latter stripped down to his boxers and hurriedly, and with burning cheeks yet again, pulled on his pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt. With a careless flick of his wand that would have earned him a scolding reprimand from Hermione had they both been students at Hogwarts, Sirius had lit a few candles by the bed, but no fire. They did not really need one, Harry reasoned as he lay down and dragged the covers over him. They were only here to sleep – all covered up – and nothing else.

He did not mean to look when Sirius – probably deliberately slowly – freed himself of his t-shirt and dropped it on the floor by the bed. And Harry most certainly meant to close his eyes when his godfather proceeded to flick the buttons of his jeans open but as it turned out, good intentions soon melted in the face of what Harry was coming to realise was desire.

With his jeans hanging low on his hips, barely holding on to them, Sirius padded around the room, doing this and that, his body moving in and out of shadow and flickering candlelight. Harry swallowed as the warm glow illuminated pale skin and made the black hair gleam. He was not aroused, it was nothing like that. It was more of a deep ache, a yearning, for some closeness, someone to hold on to that was beautiful and kind and... _his_.

If that was the case, that was. And, if so, that was fucking frightening but also magnificently marvellous.

He had just arrived at this conclusion when he realised he was being spoken to. His head jerking up, he found Sirius watching him with an odd little half-smile in the faint light. "Sorry?"

"I was saying that..." His godfather came a bit closer, and the way the fine lines around his eyes were accentuated by the shadows kept Harry's gaze from wandering southwards. "That... this is the first time anyone else sleeps here... with me." He made an attempt at a grin. "Of course I don't know what Kreacher got up to while I was... away... but it's the first time that I know of..." His voice faltered and so did his grin.

Moving cautiously, Harry pushed himself into a sitting position, as though he were afraid he would take Sirius by surprise and frighten him, and consequently be chased out into the hallway. "It is?" he asked, stupidly.

"Yeah." He gave Harry's legs a nudge and sank down on the edge of the bed. "Yeah," he nodded, some of his hair falling into his face. "Would you believe it..."

Harry did not know what to say. "I..." he began, "I guess I never thought about that."

For a brief moment, Sirius looked at him almost fatherly, like Harry were a child that could not know better, but then sighed and covered one of Harry's hands with his. "As I told you, boyfriends weren't allowed in the House of Black," he said simply, and bitterly. "And though at times I hated it, I valued my life enough to never try to sneak one inside."

Harry heard him, he did, but the word _boyfriend _had somehow gotten stuck in his head. Did this mean that Sirius now considered him his boyfriend? Or was he only recalling times past and applying memories to present-day circumstances? And wasn't Sirius too old to be his _boyfriend_? Or was it Harry who was too young? Shaking himself free of his tangled thoughts, he tried to focus on his godfather.

Sirius had begun moving his thumb in small circles over his skin and the touch was soothing. Given the current situation, it should really be him comforting Sirius, but his godfather did not seem to mind. They sat for a while in the building darkness. Not a sound from the small square outside or the streets beyond made it into the room. Harry's skin was tingling lazily where the pad of Sirius' thumb was rubbing it lightly. Any tension he had been carrying around in his shoulders and neck dissipated as his breathing deepened and he felt pleasantly warm and perfectly safe where he sat with his back against the pillows.

"Sirius?"

"Yes?"

"You know I love you, right?"

The modest ministrations slowed but did not stop. The older man looked up at him. "Yes, Harry, I know." His smile was both sad and happy at the same time. "And I love you – I always have. Even though..." He bit his lip, looking suddenly a bit rueful.

"Even though what?" prompted Harry.

Sirius shrugged. "Nah, nothing."

"No, what?"

Releasing Harry's hand, his godfather circled the bed and in a fluid motion pushed down his jeans and stepped out of them. "Well... I guess I might have been a little, you know, just a tad..." he sounded terribly uncomfortable and his eyes did not meet Harry's as he lowered himself on to the bed.

Curiosity – and a twinge of worry – drowned out any interest Harry might have in his godfather's near nakedness. "What?"

"In the beginning... or rather, to tell you the truth, from the moment James told me Lily was pregnant with you I was a little... envious..."

Harry could feel his own eyebrows making for his hairline. "Of whom?"

"Of you," said Sirius, with another shrug. "And as much as I loved Lily, I..." He paused and grimaced. "OK, so maybe I wasn't _too_ fond of your dad settling down and having kids and all... I'm not saying I didn't love you! I did. The moment I saw you – frail and small and innocent, but with _so _much potential for marauding..." The grin that had begun working its way into his face suddenly vanished and he groaned and dropped his head into his hands. "Shit, I'm old!"

Laughing, Harry scrambled closer and pried his hands away. "You're not old... you're perfect." He blushed even as he said it, but he stubbornly looked Sirius straight in the eye as the older man turned to him.

"I'm not perfect, Harry," said Sirius quietly. "I never will be."

Harry lifted a hand and brushed some of his hair off his forehead. "Then you're perfect enough."

They did not speak more after that but Harry did not mind. When Sirius wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close, and pressed a silent kiss to his forehead, he smiled. And a moment later, when there was only darkness around them, Harry was happy to discover that the arm did not pull away.

o.O.o

"Don't..." Sirius tugged at Harry's robes to smooth the fabric out over his shoulders. "Don't say anything stupid, OK?"

"Why would I say anything stupid?"

"I don't know!" His godfather gave a shrug that did not entirely mask his unease. "Just don't try to be the hero, Harry."

"I won't." He smiled. It seemed to make Sirius worried, the more he smiled. Harry was rather enjoying it. "Hopefully there'll be no need for that."

"May I remind you that it is the Wizengamot you are about to deal with?" Sirius gave a huff steeped in so much contempt that one had to admire both the effort and the execution.

"I'm not _dealing _with anyone or anything," said Harry, slowly. "I'll sit at the back and not one stupid word shall cross my lips." He smiled again.

Sirius, apparently, was immune to any such tricks this morning. "I'd prefer it if you didn't say anything at all," he muttered. His hands cupped Harry's shoulders and his thumbs worked circles into the smooth fabric. "You sure you don't want to borrow–"

"Um, no, thanks," Harry hurried to say. Listen, I'll pretend I'm not even there," he said, and as much as he liked Sirius holding on to him, he made a move towards the waiting fireplace.

"Wait." Sirius' grasp strengthened. He frowned. This time there was a more genuine furrow between his brows. "Don't... don't get caught up in their politics, Harry."

"Sirius," said Harry, unable to keep a hint of exasperation from sneaking into his voice, "I promise I won't do anything reckless but I really have to go. I need to see them, to hear what they have to say for themselves. What more do you want from me?"

For a moment Sirius only looked at him, a queer light in his eyes. Then he said, very quietly, with his lips barely moving, "At the end of the day, Harry, I just want you to come home... to me."

Harry was not sure who moved first but he made sure his arms were as tightly wrapped around Sirius as his godfather's were around him. He buried his face in the crook of Sirius neck, glasses and all, but no protest ensued. Sirius breathed deeply against him and Harry imagined that he could feel lips brushing his hair. They parted reluctantly, Harry slowly working his way towards the grate and the fire. A handful of Floo powder later, the flames flashed a bright emerald green and Harry stepped in among them.

Just as he was about to state his destination, Sirius spoke up again, "Oh, and don't–"

But Harry, deciding that at some point enough had to be enough, reached out and, before his godfather could finish his sentence, caught him by the collar of his t-shirt and yanked him close. So close in fact, that their noses bumped into each other, but the main point was that their lips were firmly pressed together.

It was a quick kiss and nothing fancy at all, but Sirius was sporting a somewhat self-conscious smile when it was over. Harry released him and said loud and clear, "The Ministry of Magic." Then Sirius was only a blur of black mixed with black and there was not much more Harry could do than submit to the customary unpleasantness of Flooing.

He managed a relatively graceful landing (password: 'xylophone'; which a weasel Patronus, speaking with Mr Weasley's voice had informed Harry of as he was brushing his teeth after breakfast, effectively making him choke on a mouthful of toothpaste) and was glad that he did not have to waste precious minutes dusting himself off. The whole waking-up and getting-dressed, and having-breakfast, and having-to-listen-to-Sirius-worry procedure had taken a bit longer than strictly necessary and time was ticking away quickly. If there was one thing that was guaranteed to grant him unwanted attention, he assumed, it was a late arrival.

The Atrium was neither crowded nor empty as he set out for the lifts. What it was, was strangely quiet. He passed two witches standing very close but speaking so low that he could not make out one single word, and a group of elderly wizards all dressed in a dark and formal grey, that seemed to communicate solely by exchanging dark looks and heavy shakes of their heads.

Harry's trainers made soft squishy sounds as he crossed the damaged floor. Peripherally he wondered when it would be repaired and the rest of the Atrium restored to its former glory, but mostly he tried to keep his head down and his presence unnoticed. Every step he took that brought him closer to the lifts seemed to him loud enough to match the roar of a dragon and yet no one looked his way.

He wove around small knots of visitors and blue-robed workers, all of them oddly blind to anyone not belonging to their own party. Not enjoying the luxury of a well-stocked wardrobe with plenty of alternatives to choose from, Harry had opted for the same set of dress robes he had worn at Bill and Fleur's wedding, but with a few minor alterations that would make it easier for him to blend in with the crowd. Sirius, on his part, had generously offered him a set of mouldy old robes that looked as though they might have belonged to some long forgotten wizard, whose name was now nothing more than a smudge of faded ink on the Black family tree, but Harry had politely declined. Most likely his godfather had hoped that the proffered robes would emit such a foul smell that Harry got thrown back into the Floo system before he could even set foot in the courtroom, but Sirius had denied the allegations with a perfectly sculpted expression of indignation.

Ignoring him, Harry had turned his dress robes a green so deep it looked almost black, and after some experimenting (he had, after all, never encountered this particular challenge before) managed to remove the lingering traces of Veela-silvery shimmer that had radiated from Fleur on her wedding day, and which had so beautifully enhanced the guests' appearances as well. Whatever glow that had rubbed off on Harry then, was now utterly and absolutely gone.

He had felt confident about his results earlier; now was a different matter. However inconspicuous his ensemble, Harry would have preferred to keep to the walls instead of crossing the open floor. He passed the spot where the security desk had once stood and glancing upwards he saw, mounted on the wall, two ornate, albeit dusty, hourglasses, one in which bleak blue sand was swirling wildly as though caught in a desert storm, and the other seemingly empty. He had no idea what these were showing but Harry sped up a little, suddenly overcome by an inexplicable feeling of foreboding.

By the time he had passed through the golden gates and reached the lifts, the uneasy and hushed whispers were beginning to get to him and his skin crawled. A faint, barely audible murmur was slithering along the walls and the dull sound of footfall echoed around the Atrium, but neither of these were comforting sounds. Harry found himself casting glances over both his shoulders more than once but no one spared him even the quickest raised eyebrow. Wiping sweaty palms on his robes, he waited for the grilles to clatter open. Not even the solid presence of his wand in his sleeve did much to reassure him that he was in complete control.

A stale smell rose to meet him as the lift descended into darkness and the lower levels of the Ministry closed in around him. Alone as he was, he had more than enough time to study the scratches in the golden bars and the grimy floor. Was it possible that the Ministry was in a worse condition now than it had been only a few days ago? Or perhaps he had been to preoccupied with the whole ordeal with Sirius' recorded status and the kiss to notice...

When the lift finally came to a stop with a clang, Harry told himself that it was his own imagination that made even the cool female voice announcing "The Department of Mysteries" sound wary. He stepped out into a pool of flickering torchlight and must steel his heart against a numbing surge of pain that rose in his chest as the door leading to the Entrance Chamber flashed into sight among the shadows. Somewhere on the other side of that door, somewhere in that maze of madness and fear and anger that spread out behind that simple wooden barrier, lay the Death Chamber... where...

Harry forced himself to turn his back to it and he stole a few precious moments to recall the feeling of Sirius' arms around him, of his lips against his own and his smile. With a deep breath, he opened his eyes and headed the other way and down the flight of steps that led down to level ten.

Down here, the stale smell had turned distinctly sweeter and more heady. It mingled with a dampness that suggested to Harry that something had died in some secluded corner and was now rotting without somebody to clear it away. He pulled out his wand, if only to feel its familiar weight in his hand, prepared to face more blank, impersonal stone and a building loneliness. But when he reached the end of the steps and the corridor opened up before him again, he was completely unprepared for the enormous crowd that had gathered there.

Quickly sliding his wand back into his sleeve he moved as quietly as possible. Also here the people were whispering – if they were communicating at all. Heavy doors, unadorned save for keyholes and iron bolts, lined the walls on both sides of the corridor. Torches cast an uneven and restless pattern of light on the rough stone. All of the doors were firmly closed and Harry must assume that the one leading to courtroom number six also was the one that had attracted all the attention. He approached the crowd on silent feet, the brooding shadows obligingly devouring any soft noises his trainers made. When he was close enough to make out individual faces he scanned the assembled audience for any familiar ones but was both relieved and disappointed to find that he recognised no one. As he waited on the edge of the throng he wondered what Hermione would have made of all of this. Would _make, _of course, when he told her.

There was an uncomfortable lurch in his breast, very close to his heart, at the thought. Why had he not asked Ron and Hermione to come with him? The question bubbled up to his mind's surface and he realised he had no answer to it. They had done their fair share of running after him, he reasoned, and they should be focusing on rebuilding their lives now, not on the business of the Ministry. On top of that, Ron was in mourning. _But_, a small voice in his head countered, _that does not explain why you did not ask them. _

Harry pushed the thought aside. Hermione knew of his plans and presumably she had told Ron about them, and neither of them had offered to come with him. Still, it was strange to be standing here by himself, without their bickering to accompany him. At that, a small grin twitched in the corner of his lips and he decided he did not blame them for preferring to stay out of this.

No more had he come to this conclusion before there was some commotion ahead of him, and bustling as people hurried to part to let someone through. Harry hastened to press himself against the cool wall but not before the shoe on his left foot had blocked the stab from a sharp heel. He let out a grunt of pain and a very short and plump witch with iron grey hair and an impressive shade of bright red lipstick turned to look up at him.

"Forgive me, young man," she said, pleasantly enough but without sounding contrite. Her face was lined but her eyes a razor sharp, bright blue.

Harry shook his head. "Don't worry," he mumbled, hoping that would be the end of that. He squinted down at his shoe; there was a deep dent in it which he did not mind so long as he did not have to discuss it any further. His attention was diverted almost immediately, however, as a deep voice rose above the rustle of robes:

"Make way for the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot!"

Harry could not have said exactly when the tiny wizard appeared: in one moment there were only the twin rows of people lining the walls, and in the next the small figure was trotting down the corridor at a respectable pace. He must be ancient, Harry decided, as he took in the bony hands and the wispy snow white beard that fell almost to the ground. The Chief Warlock wore the usual plum coloured robes of the court and on his right forefinger glinted a large amethyst set in silver.

The bodiless voice rang out again as he drew nearer to where Harry stood. "Make way for the..."

"Yes, yes..." the Chief Warlock raised a hand and the voice was gone in an instant. "That will do, Aloysius. Thank you." He spoke softly and his voice reminded Harry of the dry rustle of parchment.

A low murmur rose as he stopped before what Harry saw, if he dared to lean forwards just a little, was indeed a door. With slender fingers, the Chief Warlock produced an equally slender wand, pale and long in the torchlight, but before he worked any type of magic, he half turned so that he was once again facing Harry.

He was not looking directly at Harry and yet the latter felt a shiver travel down his spine. For a moment there was only silence as even the very air held still, and Harry did not breathe. Then the small wizard came alive again and gave a sort of bow to the door. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, softly and quietly; and seemingly without any effort, the heavy wooden door swung open.

"Always a show-off, he was. And still is, I see."

Harry snapped out of his trance to find the witch with the red lipstick snorting. Daring a bit of conversation, he asked, "Who is he?"

"Who is he?" she echoed him, as though she could not believe that any human being could be so dumb. "Algernon Pod, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot." Her eyes narrowed at him. "You are not deaf, are you?"

"Er, no," said Harry. "I guess I just didn't know who had succeeded Dumbledore..."

"Hm," she said, her sharp eyes raking over him appraisingly. If she recognised him, she did not say so. "Well, they've found themselves a successor now... Algernon was always fond of a bit of drama."

People had started to move through the door but Harry hung back. "I didn't know the Chief Warlock would be here today," he said, doing his best to feign innocent curiosity.

"There is nowhere else he'd rather be," she said with another snort. "Not with what happened last night."

Harry's eyes shot to her face. "What happened last night?"

"You are here and yet you don't know?" she asked him, incredulous. Steel grey brows furrowed at him. "For a saviour and a hero, Mr Potter, you do not seem very up to date with the latest goings-on."

Harry flushed, but she spared him the trouble of coming up with an excuse. "I'll tell you what happened," she went on instead, the crowd thinning as more and more people disappeared into the courtroom. A small self-satisfied smile drew across her lips as though she were pleased to be the one come bearing the news. "No one knows how it came about – they were of course stripped of all their belongings, wands and all, upon their arrest – but the fact remains – _the fact remains – _that the guards found Lucius Malfoy lying, stone cold, on the floor of his cell last night. They say he'd tried to kill himself."

Harry stared at her. "But... how?"

She shrugged, her lips pursed. "Merlin knows. But I will tell you that I was strongly opposed to the building of Azkaban. And I still think it should be shut down. And I am not the only one – we were all saying it!" She gave a small irritable shake of her head, her grey curls bouncing. "Ah, but who listens to us? Not the Azkaban Security Officials and Very Important Wizards, at least, I'll have you know."

"But..." Harry shook his head to clear it. "But if he didn't have a wand..."

She cut him off with a pointed look. "The point is, Mr Potter, that things are not running as smoothly as one would like." With that, she turned on her heel and, quite decisively, made for the door.

And Harry, with his thoughts swirling, let himself be swallowed up by the remains of the crowd and swept over the threshold to courtroom number six.

**TBC**


	18. The Trial

Here we are again! I think I missed answering a couple of reviews... Wonderstand, you asked about Percy. I don't know, is the quick answer. We shall see if he finds his way into the story at some point. And that goes for all OCs that haven't played a part yet.

For now, I hope all of you will be content with a very talkative Chief Warlock!

**Chapter 18 – The Trial**

Harry supposed that it might not be an entirely normal thing – and no doubt it was hardly a sign of respectability in aunt Petunia's book – but upon entering the courtroom he realised that somewhere along the way he had gotten rather used to the idea of them. This one was carved out of the same black stone as all the rest, this stone that seemed to be the very foundation of the Ministry, and only marginally better lit than the ones he had previously frequented. On either side, wizards and witches were climbing the steps leading up to the benches that lined the sloping walls and in front of him loomed the seats of the jury. Glancing up at them, Harry could only just make out their plum-coloured robes with the 'W' for Wizengamot neatly embroidered on the front. A few of the jury members were whispering among themselves whereas the rest were gazing out over their audience. Algernon Pod, the new Chief Warlock was seated at the very front, in the very middle, his slender fingers laced together in front of him. He was looking very much unlike the way Cornelius Fudge had when he had presided over Harry's disciplinary hearing all those years ago. Pod's lined face was an impassive mask but he was staring intently at something and Harry followed his gaze, over a couple of bobbing hats, into a pool of light in the centre of the dungeon, until his own eyes landed on a silvery-white head, hanging down between two slumped shoulders.

Harry blinked. Little light reached the ghostly pale face but the hair was too long to be Draco's and the shoulders too broad to be Narcissa's. And Harry only knew three people with hair like that. For one bizarre, macabre, moment Harry wondered who in the world was cruel enough to drag Lucius' dead body into the courtroom for all to see – and was then struck by the horrible realisation that the Death Eaters had done far, far worse things during their despicable dominion, and he wanted to retch. Then the body moved. As though he had felt Harry's horror, Lucius Malfoy raised his head ever so slowly and exposed a gaunt, slack face, lined with shadows of pain and suffering. He did not look at Harry. In fact, Harry was not sure he was looking at anything at all.

Several seconds passed during which Harry simply did not understand what he was seeing. Lucius Malfoy was swathed all in black and if the overhead lights from their invisible source had not shone down upon him, all but his head would easily have been taken for one of the shadows coiling in he corners. He was seated with his back to the court, in a chair Harry remembered all too well, but the long chains were nowhere to be seen. _They are not anticipating his escape, _he thought, and the more he looked upon Lucius, the more obvious it became that this man would never flee, even if he were alone and the door was open.

Harry knew his feet were working because they were steering him up the stone steps but his eyes were glued on Lucius. It was only when his knee collided hard with one of the benches that his head jerked around and tiny stars exploded at the edges of his vision. Biting back a curse, Harry rubbed his knee through his robes and forced the pain away. He had known worse, after all. Most of the audience had taken their seats, filling the courtroom to the brim, but Harry spied the elderly witch with the red lipstick only a couple of levels above him, and some empty space beside her. Quickly, he climbed the steps and, to some annoyed grunting and general disapproval, managed to claim a seat beside her.

She acknowledged him with a small nod but made no attempt at conversation. Harry, having to know what was going on, leaned in close. "I thought you said he was dead?"

She turned the steel blue gaze on him. "The wording was precise, Mr Potter."

"Um, what?" There was something about her that made something else in a dark, secluded corner of Harry's mind stir, but before he could grasp it, it was gone.

She pursed her bright red lips. "The _wording_ was _precise_. Did I not tell you that Lucius Malfoy had tried to kill himself?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, you did. But he's sitting right there..."

He could not decide if she sighed or not. "He _tried. _And, _obviously,_ he did not succeed."

"Oh." Harry felt stupid. "Right."

"Indeed."

He looked around the room, at the curious audience, the whispering Wizengamot, the worn and beaten Lucius Malfoy. "But they're still going through with the trial?"

She lifted one grey eyebrow.

Harry managed a small self-conscious grimace. "Obviously."

The time for conversation, however hushed, was over, then, and Harry sat up a little straighter as a surprisingly pleasant female voice rang out all around him and echoed off the walls:

"Trial of the tenth of May, into offences committed under the International Statute of Secrecy and the Absolute Ban on the Unforgivable Curses..."

"And no doubt a whole number of new laws that the Ministry shall pass in the upcoming days," Algernon Pod's voice, quiet and yet perfectly audible, finished. While he spoke, the overhead light turned brighter and was soon bathing the entire court in a soft golden glow. This change should have been reassuring but the effect was only daunting; Harry could see keen eyes and expressions of utter disgust aimed for the lonely man in the chair in the centre of the floor.

There was a peculiar half-smile playing in Pod's face as he leaned forwards in his seat. He inclined his head at a pretty young witch down the row. "With your permission, Celia." He smiled more fully when she laid down her quill and Harry guessed that it was she who had spoken before.

"Lucius Malfoy... Lucius Malfoy..." Pod clicked his tongue. "What we shall we do with you?" He raised his slender wand and with a flourish, made Lucius chair perform half a turn so that the Chief Warlock and the accused were facing each other.

Despite the sudden change in scenery, Lucius had not moved an inch and Harry could only assume that he was breathing. The long pale blond hair was matted and tangled. Seeing him like this... Harry stared at him, filled his vision with nothing but Lucius Malfoy, and tried to hate him as he once had... but failed. This was not Draco's father as he remembered him – the man that had been waiting for Harry in the Department of Mysteries when he had been tricked into thinking that Sirius was being tortured there by Voldemort. This was hardly even a man.

"Now," Pod resumed his talking. "You are... You are by your very existence a puzzle which begs to be solved. If you had been Dolohov... or McNair, for example, this would all have been so much simpler, do you not agree? Ah, but you insist on being Lucius Malfoy! Once upon a time – a very dark and dreadful time, I might add, but nevertheless: a time as crucial as any, as such times _are _wont to be – the most trusted, the most faithful of the Dark Lord's supporters, but as of late – of late! - alas, nothing more than a broken, reluctant servant. Taunted you were, Lucius, I hear. Nothing more than a rag with which to polish your Master's shoes." He spoke very softly and yet his voice carried clearly all the way to where Harry sat, and beyond. "Tell me, Lucius, did you suffer?"

Malfoy did not respond and the courtroom sank into a dense silence. It crept up the benches and Harry could almost feel it tangle around his feet. He shivered in his seat; the golden haze of light felt very far away.

When he had made sure that every eye in the dungeon was on him, the Chief Warlock continued, almost gently, "Did you suffer, as you made others suffer, hm, Lucius? When the Cruciatus Curse flew off your tongue as easily as a bid for butterbeer? In these dark days past did you then truly understand the... _glorious nature_ of your campaign? When the Dark Lord turned from you and shoved you into the dirt, did it pain you? These are but a few of the questions that I seek answers to." He sat back but his gaze did not leave the prisoner.

At first, Harry did not think that Lucius would speak at all – indeed, wondered if he even could – but then, after what seemed like years, Lucius' voice, roughened and cracked, broke through the mist of magic Pod's words had left behind. He only said two words, and Harry must strain to hear them, but in the end they made perfect sense.

"My... son..."

"Ah, yes..." Pod was smiling now. "Of course."

Again the light shifted and a single beam broke loose to swirl around and land on another figure: seated on the front row, only a few feet from his father, and opposite Harry, sat Draco. He was as pale as Lucius and dressed in similar dusty black robes. He sported a bruise that covered a large part of his left cheekbone and his eyes were wide with fear. At the sight of him, Harry's stomach turned itself inside-out.

"Your dear son," Harry heard Pod saying, gently. "The precious son. The son you loved so deeply that you did not think twice before you offered him to the most evil wizard of all times. You know it is a crime, of course, to bear the Dark Mark?"

Harry had not seen him point his wand but the sleeve of Draco's robes suddenly came alive and flew up to his elbow to expose the ugly brand on his wrist. Draco jerked and stared down in silent horror at his own arm. The light ran along it and played tricks with the ink, making it stand out, made it darker than Harry knew it to be, against the white skin.

"A sign of true affection...?" Algernon Pod's voice softly speculated. "The gift from an adoring father to his beloved son, and from the faithful servant to his demanding lord. So, Lucius, when you refer to Draco here, am I to believe that what you did, you did for him?"

Harry desperately tried to conjure memories of Lucius Malfoy's cruelty. He forced to the surface what he could recall of the insults he had thrown at Mr Weasley and at Hermione. He pictured Ginny, hand in hand with death, on the floor in the Chamber of Secrets; even of Dobby the house-elf who had lived in so much fear of his master. In his mind, Harry returned to the graveyard on that night of terror when Cedric was slain and Voldemort was reborn. Lucius had been there, had helped to bring it about, and had pledged himself to serve death and destruction of all that was good and bright. And Harry thought about Sirius so hard that for a moment or two he could truly feel his godfather's arms around him.

Beside him, the witch with the red lipstick shifted in her seat, and Harry's eyes flew open. Grateful for the lack of light, he blushed, having quite forgotten the purpose of his little visit to the cupboard of his memories. Pushing the image of Sirius' grin from his mind, Harry focused once more on proceedings. The single ray of light that had illuminated Draco had melted back into the general glow but Harry could still make out his former nemesis in the shadows. He was fiddling with something... his sleeve, pulling it down to cover his wrist... his whole hand. Harry swallowed hard. He was supposed to hate them, both Draco and his father, but all he knew in this moment was pity. _And perhaps, _he reflected, _to them, that would be worse. _

Algernon Pod was rolling his wand between his long fingers. "You give me no other answer, Lucius. You tell me that your son matters to you, but you will say nothing of your crimes. Do you plead guilty? Guilty of conspiracy, of torture, of murder, of exposing the wizarding world to the Muggles... The list goes on and on." He lay down his wand and laced his fingers together again. "You know, I would gladly send you off to Azkaban to rot in some dank cellar for eternity were it not for a not so insignificant detail..."

Harry glanced around the dungeon. The audience seemed to hang on every word and no one moved. Draco's movements had stilled, too, and as far as Harry could see, his gaze was fastened upon his father.

The Chief Warlock smiled again. "It is said that during the last months of the Dark Lord's reign he spat on you and used you against your will. And that you were weak and had lost all love for him. Is that so?"

The courtroom waited with bated breath. Harry was torn, he realised. Part of him wanted Pod to throw Lucius into Azkaban and part of him wanted... something else. Something more humane, whatever that might be.

Lucius' answer, when it finally came, was no more than a ragged whisper, "I hated him."

A low but greedy-for-more murmuring broke out at the admission and Pod looked pleased. "I am sure many share your sentiment. However... _However_, Mr Malfoy, I ask myself: is this enough? Did you by any action or deed defy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named while he was still alive? Or did you only in your heart turn against him, and if that is so, should that guarantee you a life outside the walls of Azkaban?"

The questions sifted through the air that had now grown thick to breathe. Harry fought to keep air flowing through his lungs as he watched Lucius features, blank, in the golden light. He no longer knew what conclusion he wanted Pod to arrive at, and he was infinitely grateful that he was not asked to play a part in this process. Sirius had been right, he decided, to tell him to stay out of this. This was not his game to play at.

The Chief Warlock had waited for the lingering traces of the mutterings to dissipate and now he lifted his eyes and let his curious gaze scan the waiting crowd. "The court," he said, raising his wand so that the tip pointed towards the ceiling that Harry knew must be up there somewhere, "will," he paused and allowed the ensuing silence carry the weight of his words, "debate. The proceedings will resume in fifteen minutes."

All air went out of Harry as the overhead light rotated and dimmed, and plunged the Wizengamot into a complete pool of darkness. Harry looked around in confusion. From what he could see, he was not the only one who had been taken by surprise but it also looked to him as though people were enjoying this little break in the trial. Eager whispers picked up around him and several onlookers were craning their necks and squinting down the benches.

"They aren't going to call any witnesses?" Harry asked the elderly witch by his side.

She snorted derisively. "Now, what good would that serve them?"

"It might do Lucius Malfoy some good."

"Tell me, do you believe for one minute that they care what happens to him?" she said, with a suggestion of coolness behind her words.

"But..." Harry glanced towards the compact wall of darkness that hid the Wizengamot from view. "Pod seemed friendly enough...?"

"Mr Potter." Her eyes were probing the air around him. "Algernon Pod cares only to put on a thrilling show for a starved audience. He is fair enough but hardly Mr Malfoy's _friend_."

Harry cringed inwardly before the intensity of her blue gaze. "I didn't mean–"

"If you ask me," a new voice interrupted, and Harry twisted around in his seat. A portly middle-aged wizard with grey-blond hair was seated directly behind him. He was dressed in blue Ministry robes and balanced a high top hat on one knee. "If you ask me, they are doing this for no other reason than to scare the boy." He narrowed his eyes at the black blur that obscured the Wizengamot, but then he suddenly smiled and held out a hand. "Mr Potter I presume? Hector Windyfield, Department of Magical Transportation, at your service! Eternally grateful and such and such."

They shook hands in front of the hat while Harry attempted an easy smile. "Um, Mr Windyfield, what boy?"

"The Malfoy boy, of course! Wish to scare him, I wager." He tapped a forefinger against one of his ears. "One hears things."

The witch at Harry's side shifted in her seat. The was a deep line between her grey brows. "I can see no reason for why you should be spreading rumours, Hector."

The wizard's eyes now narrowed at her instead. But only for a heartbeat before they flew wide open. "Faith? Is that you? Merlin, I've not seen you down here for ages!"

She did not seem half as excited. In fact, she spoke rather acidly, "I am a law-abiding citizen and rarely have reason to appear before the Wizengamot. And I do find these dungeons dreadful, Hector. As you may know."

Harry watched the exchange curiously. The Ministry wizard nodded. "Yes, I do believe that your department has successfully communicated your, ah, disapproval of the current location of the courtrooms," he said.

Harry's eyebrows shot skywards. "I'm sorry... You are from the Ministry too?"

The witch only deigned him with a glance. "I am," she acknowledged.

Harry waited for her to elaborate but that never happened. Behind him Mr Windyfield had fallen silent. He considered asking her which department she was working for but her lips were doing an excellent imitation of aunt Petunia's when she was upset and Harry had learnt early on to keep his mouth shut on such occasions.

His eyes fell on the shadowy outlines of Draco Malfoy instead. He wondered what he was going through and what he was thinking. Harry wondered if Draco had ever imagined himself in a position like this, and then decided that he must have, at least once. _He didn't kill Dumbledore when Voldemort told him to_, Harry thought. _He didn't hand me over to Bellatrix at the Manor... _Draco Malfoy could be cruel, but not half as cruel as Harry had been convinced he was. _Sirius was wrong – I need to be here. _

He had no way of knowing if a full fifteen minutes had actually passed when the lights brightened again and startled the courtroom to attention. Harry could easily make out both Pod's face and Lucius', and even Draco, who was looking truly fearful now.

"The court," Pod began in that soft voice of his – magically enhanced, Harry supposed, "is divided." He appeared almost sorrowful. "Some believe, Lucius, that deep down you are a good man, that indeed you are in possession of a living heart. Some are ready to point their wands to your chest and see how the Killing Curse would become you. You were a Slytherin, Lucius. Green would suit you, they think."

Before Harry knew what he was doing, he was shooting to his feet to protest – but a strong hand, a _very _strong hand, landed on his arm and held him down against his will.

"Mr Potter," the witch – Faith – hissed. Her grip was vice-like.

Harry made to rebel but something in her ice-cold eyes drove the determination out of him. Still, he gestured at Lucius Malfoy with his free hand. "They can't kill him!"

"They won't." She said crisply. She loosened her hold on him a little and the blood flowed back into his fingertips. "Now be quiet."

Harry stared at her; she was once more looking at the court. There _was_ something familiar about her, he could see it clearly now, although he could not for his life say where he had met her before. She did not _feel _threatening. He did not fear her more than than he had Professor McGonagall when she had upbraided him at school. In fact, he was feeling much the same now as he had then, shrinking before the old Transfiguration professor.

Algernon Pod was speaking and Harry forced his scattered wits to gather again. The Chief Warlock was reading from a parchment:

"...to this day. You do realise, Mr Malfoy, that we do try to keep the existence of the wizarding community hidden from the Muggles? And that torture does not really help anyone forget what they saw? Now," he lay down the parchment, "I ask myself what to do with you...? Do I set you free, or do I condemn you to death? Compassion or cruelty, Lucius, did you ever ask yourself that question, I wonder...?" He drew out the last words, making them sound like an enchantment.

Lucius sat still as stone, as did Draco. Harry was not aware of holding his breath until his lungs began aching for air. Pod's voice slid lazily up the stone walls, up Harry's arms, and made the hair there stand on end.

"So..." the Chief Warlock said, "I reach a compromise. A safe and secure middle ground." He was smiling. It was not a wide smile, or a gleeful one, or a vengeful one – it was a plain smile, simple as that. "Ten years, Lucius Malfoy, you will serve in Azkaban, and then we shall see how you value love and duty."

No more had the last syllable rung out before an opaque sea of darkness swallowed the court. There was a moment of complete silence before people started talking all at once. Harry felt queasy. The overhead light had shifted again and he could make out neither Lucius nor Draco. A part of him that he was not particularly proud of was grateful for this.

"Well, that's that! I 'spose it was a fair sentence, considering..." Mr Windyfield had gained his feet, his blue robes falling into place around him.

"But..." Harry had to raise his voice to be heard above all the clamour that ensued as the audience was getting ready to leave, "Pod could just decide that by himself? What about the rest of the court?"

Mr Windyfield grimaced. "Pod likes to steal the show, it's true... But he _is _fair. It'll be the mother next, I wager." He brushed some dust off the rim of his top hat. "Well, I'm off! Nice meeting you Mr Potter! Should you ever need to make or dispatch a Portkey, send me an owl." He inclined his head at the witch. "Faith."

"Good day, Hector."

He melted into the moving crowd and Harry soon found himself on his feet doing much the same. His head was spinning as he made his way past the rows of benches. _Ten years... _He wondered how Lucius would get through those... He did not even know whether Azkaban was still guarded by Dementors. And Narcissa... and Draco... The idea of seeing Draco sent to Azkaban made him feel sick. Not because he liked the git, but because _that _would not be fair.

The crowd pushed him through the door and into the corridor beyond before he could even try to sneak a glance at the Malfoys. The cold embrace of the stone walls sent a shiver down Harry's spine, even with so many people around. He had lost track of Faith as he was swept through the courtroom but now he glimpsed her again, further ahead, as she made her way towards the stone steps that led up to the lifts. Pushing his way through the throng and stumbling a couple of times on long robes, Harry caught up with her only a few paces from the stair.

She turned to face him, without him needing to call out. Her blue eyes bore into him.

Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. "Um, I was just wondering... Do you know when the next trial will be?"

She regarded him for a moment longer. Her lipstick was as bright as it had been before. "You will be notified, Mr Potter."

He meant to say something but somebody pushed their way past him, giving his shoulder a hard shove, and someone else jammed their toes into his heel, and nearly toppled him over. His wand slid out of his sleeve but he managed to catch it before it hit the ground, and he regained his balance, but when he looked up again, Faith was gone.

Harry had no choice but to move with the crowd.

**TBC **


	19. Guesses and Promises

**Chapter 19 – Guesses and Promises**

When the golden grilles flew open with a clang and Harry was deposited on the level of the Atrium a little while later, he was feeling remarkably less enthusiastic than he would have done only a couple of years ago. That was, _before_ – when he had hated Lucius Malfoy almost as much as he feared Lord Voldemort. Today, however, it was hard to summon that old contempt for the Death Eater in question.

_I should have spoken up,_ he thought dismally, as he hastened to move away from the lifts that were still spewing out wizard after witch after wizard in an endless stream of swaying robes, chattering heels and bobbing, pointy hats. _I should have said something. _

But what? And why had not that thought come to him while he was still in the courtroom?

Perhaps Harry had simply not been interested in saving Lucius, after all. Perhaps ten years in Azkaban was as good as that man was ever going to get and, considering his crimes, perhaps it was indeed a fair sentence. Perhaps, when it came to Lucius, Harry actually did not care. And perhaps it might do him some good, too, finally admitting to that.

He avoided to meet anyone's gaze as he let himself be swooped off past the golden gates and into the hall, towards the row of fireplaces. He snapped up bits and pieces of hushed conversation but it was only when he heard Draco's name in conjunction with "that poor boy" that Harry dug his heels into the wooden floor and caused a minor traffic jam behind him. Ducking his head and mumbling his apologies, he made a quick half-turn and hurried back all the way to the lifts.

Maybe he did not care what happened to Lucius but Draco was an entirely different story. Draco had looked so... so... un-Malfoied where he had sat during the trial. He had looked so scared. And it was only now that Harry was beginning to understand, to _truly _understand, that Draco must always have been scared. _Always_.

And just like that, with a pang, it dawned on Harry just how deeply he missed Dumbledore. Dumbledore would have known what to do, what to say and what to think. Sitting there in his Hogwarts office, with his chin resting on his interlocked fingers, his snowy white beard falling to shield them, and his bright light blue eyes shining through his half-moon spectacles, he would have let Harry catch a glimpse of something bigger, something important that told him how to act. Or perhaps they would have worked on a plan together. And Harry would not have felt so utterly powerless.

He had spent so many – too many – months doubting and questioning the old Headmaster and therefore it came as something of a relief to him when he found himself wishing that whatever Dumbledore's past, all Harry wanted to do was to hear his counsel. But Dumbledore was gone and there was no bringing him back. This death, too, was final.

And so Harry needed to seek advice elsewhere.

The flow of Ministry workers and visitors was thinning now and Harry needed only share the next lift that came clattering along with two other wizards, neither of whom deigned Harry with as much as a cursory glance. The ride to the first level was short and Harry hoped that his luck would stay with him; he really did not need to be recognised any time soon. His hopes were promptly crushed, however, when the female voice warily announced "Level One, Minister for Magic and Support Staff," and he stepped into a corridor teeming with Ministry workers who all appeared to have been Summoned just in time to see him arrive. A haze of murmurs rose to a wild chatter that rose to a thunder of blending calls and cries:

"Harry Potter?"

"That's Harry Potter!"

"_Harry Potter...!"_

"Oi! It's Harry Potter!"

And behind Harry Potter the grilles rattled closed, and the lift continued its descent into the bowels of the Ministry.

"Harry Potter! What an _honour_!"

"My dear boy!"

"Allow me to introduce myself..."

The world narrowed down to a flurry of blue robes, long beards, tear-stained cheeks, happy smiles and lots and lots of hands that grasped for his to shake, or encouragingly slapped his back. Amidst all that commotion, Harry lost his balance and footing more than once as he tried to work his way towards the Minister's office, and he had no idea what he was saying himself. Not that it seemed to matter, really, since no one was actually listening to him and for a moment he was tempted to cry out_Blast-Ended Skrewts!_ just to see what would happen.

But never got to find out for before he'd had a chance to make up his mind, a booming voice drowned out the din: _"What is going on out here?"_

The crowd parted immediately and Harry was flushed with relief. Kingsley Shacklebolt was standing on the threshold to his office, holding the door open with one hand and looking rather imperious with a deep frown over a sharp, dark gaze. It was when his eyes fell on Harry that his stern expression faded away in favour of bemusement, but it was quickly masked and his deep voice retained its splendour when he spoke again. "Harry?"

Hastening to straighten his robes and push his glasses back into place, Harry was suddenly nervous. "Yeah, um... Minister..." He had always thought of Kingsley as, well, _Kingsley_, and it felt strange now to address him like he had done Cornelius Fudge once. (The short-lived reigns of Rufus Scrimgeour and Pius Thicknesse did not count.)

Kingsley was the first to collect himself and seize control. He drew himself up even further and inclined his head gracefully. "I am pleased you could make it on such short notice. Please, come in." He made a sweeping gesture with his free arm, motioning for Harry to enter the office.

All his well-wishers and enthusiastic devotees melted away from around him as Harry quickly closed the distance between them and hurried into the office of the new Minister for Magic.

"Well," said Kingsley, as soon as the door was firmly closed between them, "that was a proper welcome, I should think." But he did not smile. Instead, he drew his wand and began to weave a complicated pattern of wards around them. Harry recognised a few as being identical to the ones he and Ron and Hermione had surrounded themselves with on the Horcrux hunt, but there were several he failed to identify, though the point of them was crystal clear.

Only when he was done, Kingsley's face softened a little and he motioned for Harry to take a seat. The office was round and sparsely decorated and furnished, and was vaguely reminiscent of a dungeon. Though much more elegant. A large fireplace was situated to his left; its mantelpiece bore curious markings, runic in shape, that Hermione surely would have been able to read but which Harry was fairly certain he had never seen the likes of before. The floor was polished black stone, as were the walls and the high ceiling. Kingsley's desk was of a dark wood and despite the fact that it was nothing short of enormous, it still managed to drown under a heavy load of parchments. In sconces a dozen torches were burning and they cast a warm, flickering glow over the room. Together with the light of the fire they made the walls shimmer and gave Harry the impression of standing in a waterfall at midnight.

Kingsley settled down behind his desk, lifted some parchments out of the way and carefully placed his wand at his elbow. He was wearing a set of deep burgundy robes and a matching fez. "This is quite a surprise, Harry."

"Is this a bad time, sir?"

"I have a meeting with the head of the Department of Intoxicating Substances in twenty minutes," said Kingsley. "But until then..." He spread his hands. "What can I do for you?"

"I..." Harry hesitated. It had been mostly impulse that had led him to Kingsley's office in the first place. He was not here because he had some terribly important business with the Minister or some elaborate plan of action thought out that would save the world a second time around. And possibly the Malfoys, too. "I was at Lucius Malfoy's trial..." he began, unsure both of what he wanted to say and what answers he was looking for.

"Ah, yes. So I heard." At Harry's obvious surprise,a small, tired smile flitted across Kingsley's lips. "News travel fast at the Ministry," he explained. And added with a sigh, "Sometimes I think that word of my decisions gets out even before I have made them." He sat back in his chair. "Anyway, what did you think of the trial?"

"Strange," Harry admitted.

"Rather well-orchestrated, I should imagine," said Kingsley. "Pod is quite the enchanter of his audience." He nodded softly. "But he is a decent judge. And he is fair."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me," said Harry, "but..."

Kingsley's eyebrows rose in curiosity. "But...? You do not trust him to be fair, Harry?"

"I... I don't know." Harry bit his lip. "I mean, he just seemed so..."

"Full of himself? So terribly fond of his own person?" Kingsley laid two fingers on his wand and rolled it against the desktop, back and forth, an inch or two in each direction. "I dare say he is," he continued after a thoughtful pause. "But he has always supported our cause against Voldemort and well, to be honest, there is no one better, at the moment. There simply _is _no one else who can lead the Wizengamot."

Harry frowned. "How is that?"

"It is..." Kingsley's deep dark eyes were serious. "The war left scars, Harry. Deep scars. Not only in us," he made a curious little gesture with his hand, over his heart, "but in this administration as well. It is my ambition, and that of many others, to heal the wizarding world and restore the Ministry's reputation, but it will take time. And we must make use of whatever assets are available to us, be they galleons or human resources."

"So Pod is one of those assets?" Harry asked.

"Yes," said Kingsley simply. "We need him. And he knows as much. Something which makes him powerful, naturally. But, Harry... we are trying to build a better world."

Looking into his grim face and those bottomless eyes, Harry could only nod. He did not doubt Kingsley's good intentions but what he had seen so far of the Ministry in its post-war state did not serve to impress him much.

When he did not reply at once, Kingsley took the opportunity to change the subject. "So, tell me, Harry, how are _you _doing? I spoke with Arthur the other day and he told me that Molly worries about you."

"Well," Harry gave a somewhat awkward shrug, "with all due respect, sir, she always worries about me..."

The corners of Kingsley's mouth turned upwards in a small, reluctant smile. "Yes, I suppose you are right. And how is Sirius?"

Perhaps if Harry had been able to foresee the question, he would not have needed to feel heat collect in his cheeks, but as it was, he now fervently prayed that the flickering light and the remaining shadows that coiled around him were enough to hide his sudden unease from Kingsley. "Um, he's... OK. He wasn't very happy after we came back from the re-registration centre."

"Ah, no." Judging by Kingsley's perfectly neutral tone of voice, he found nothing suspicious about Harry's new-found desire to not meet his eyes. "Your visit caused quite the commotion, I've been told."

"Yeah..." Harry shifted in his seat. "But it's completely illogical." Some of the anger he had felt back then, when Sirius was proclaimed dead all over again – even though he was obviously extremely alive – found its way back to him and gave him the courage to look up. "He's not dead. They can't keep arguing that he is. That's just... Forgive me, but that's just _stupid. _Sir."

He could not tell what emotion passed over Kingsley's face but the Minister inclined his head. "I do see your point, Harry. And it will be looked into. I promise you that."

"It will?"

"Yes. Not by myself but by someone I trust. You may tell Sirius that, if you wish. I know he nurtures a disgust for the Ministry's work and policies."

"With good reason," Harry muttered, before thinking. As soon as the words had left his mouth, though, he blushed, deeper this time. "I'm sorry."

But Kingsley held up a hand. "Things are what they are. Some will change while others will not." He pushed his chair back, his robes falling smoothly into place around him. "Now, I am afraid, I must attend to other matters."

Harry was quick to rise. "Thanks for seeing me."

This time, Kingsley did smile. "Take care, Harry. I will see you again on Friday." And with that he raised his wand and sweepingly unmade the wards and the shielding charms and Harry was left with no other option but to take his leave.

He made it up to the Atrium in one piece, if a bit ruffled, and was indescribably relieved when he finally reached the gilded fireplaces. Right now, there was nothing he wanted more than to let the heavy silence of Grimmauld Place enfold him, and for once he was happy of the fact that Kreacher had his own opinion on who were the true heroes of the wizarding world and would never bother Harry about how many of his children would be named after him. Which _really _was an incredibly disturbing thought but which nevertheless gave Harry's mind the opportunity to conjure images of the grumpy house-elf with squealing miniature Kreachers in his bony arms. Shaking off these visions as best he could, he quickly grabbed a handful of Floo powder and cast it onto the flames.

He would think more on the Malfoys and how he might help Draco later, he resolved as he stepped in among the emerald flames. He was not sure that the talk with Kingsley had done much to allay his worries but something had come out of that discussion that he had not anticipated: the matter of Sirius' status would be dealt with. And that, at least, was good news.

o.O.o

The drawing room lay swathed in an uninspired midday gloom when Harry stumbled out of the fireplace and sprinkled soot all over the thick carpet. But it was blessedly quiet. He had taken no more than three steps, however, when a loud _crack _made him jump and Kreacher himself appeared not five feet away.

Today the house-elf wore an old pillowcase, frayed at the edges and with unidentifiable faded stains decorating it. His eyes were even more bloodshot than usual and there were deep lines of tension around his mouth. "Master Harry Potter," he croaked in welcome, and jutted his shoulders forwards in some type of additional acknowledgement of Harry's arrival.

"Kreacher."

The house-elf's long snout-like nose scrunched up and he let out a harsh hiss. "Harry Potter stinks of magic."

"I do?" Harry looked down at himself, quite pointlessly.

"Stinks and stinks he does," Kreacher muttered under his breath. In the poor light his sagging skin had an ashen hue. "Of wizards and traitors... No honour left..."

Deeming it wisest to not add any fuel to the budding rant, Harry cut across him in a pre-emptive strike. "Yeah, um, I promise I'll wash. Have you seen Sirius?"

But Kreacher was still mumbling hoarsely to himself, his fingers curling into fists by his side. His grumbling was too low for Harry to understand and so he asked again, a little louder this time.

"...the _dog,_" Kreacher spat. Narrowed eyes, brimming with repugnance, shot to Harry's face. "Betrayed them all... and the mistress wept..."

"_Kreacher."_

The elf jerked at the sharp address but his lips remained curled in disgust. Harry exhaled slowly, doing his best to keep from shouting. "Where is Sirius?"

There was a moment of tension before Kreacher grunted, "Lunch."

"You mean he's in the kitchen?"

Kreacher bobbed his head in a way that made Harry think he might just have broken his own neck. His voice was a mere hiss, "The dog is in the kitchen."

"You will stop calling him _the dog_," Harry told him, sternly. "His name is Sirius."

The house-elf looked at him, and for a heartbeat or two the ugly face was blank, but then he sneered, his mouth twisting into a malicious curve, "And he is a dog."

With another _crack _he was gone_. _

Harry could not entirely shake the feeling of unease as he hastened up the stairs to the first floor landing with the intention of making a quick dive into the bathroom and check his appearance in the mirror there. It was not as if he was vain, but he did not trust Kreacher to tell him if he unwittingly had stuck his head into a puddle of mud (or worse) and was now quite repulsive to human eyes.

A thorough, but certainly subjective (and definitely hopeful), investigation proved that he was not. In fact, he was looking pretty much the same as he had that morning, which Harry, in the end, could only interpret as a good thing. After all, Sirius had not shown any sign of finding Harry despicable yet when he looked like this: his, well... his usual self.

But while trudging down the stairs on his way to the kitchen, Harry shook his head at his own folly. This was a wholly new thing to him. Or, if it was not completely new, at least he was operating on a much higher level now; of course he had wanted both Cho and Ginny to find him attractive but with Sirius it was... different. Harry could not deny that he wanted Sirius to find him _very _attractive.

_Very, very _attractive.

So attractive that his godfather would have no problem with them engaging in some more of that kissing Harry was steadily growing very accustomed to like.

And remembering their shared kisses made him remember other things, too, and therefore it was with slightly flushed cheeks that he made it into the kitchen and smiled when he spotted Sirius at the table, idly flipping through today's _Prophet_, with the remnants of his lunch cooling beside him on a plate.

It lasted for no more than a second, but Harry was so sure that he saw relief flash in Sirius' grey eyes when the older man looked up that he could have staked his life on it. Then Sirius grinned and Harry's heart performed a little stutter of irregular beats.

"Hey, Harry!" Sirius laid down the _Prophet. _"You're back."

"Yeah..."

"Are you OK? You look a bit flustered." Eagerly, Sirius pushed out the chair next to him and patted the seat. "Come, sit. Have you eaten?"

"I'm fine." Harry took a step closer, but then he stopped and narrowed his eyes at his godfather. "Sirius, why are you suddenly behaving like Mrs Weasley?" A horrible thought struck him, then. "She didn't drop by, did she?" Not that he minded Mrs Weasley visiting, but as things currently stood he could not imagine her having anything particularly kind whatsoever to say to Sirius.

"What? No! I'm just..." he shrugged, his grin fading into a more of a grimace. "I was... I might have been a tad – just a tad – worried... about you. That's all."

"Ah." Harry had to smile at that. Sliding into the seat next to Sirius, he was rewarded with a new grin and the gentle brush of his godfather's knuckles over his cheek. The touch was very light, and yet it sent a rush of sudden expectation that was hard to quell through Harry's breast.

If Sirius had not pulled back a little, he might have tried his luck and attempted to instigate a kiss. But Sirius' raised his eyebrows in inquiry: "So? How did it go? How was it?"

And Harry figured he really had no choice but to pull himself together and tell him. So he did. He told Sirius about Algernon Pod, the new Chief Warlock, and the trial he had so masterfully put together, and of the verdict; and he told Sirius what Lucius and Draco had looked like and what the former had said, even if his words had been scarce. But even while speaking, he was acutely aware of the fact that he was not saying one word about Faith – just as he had refrained from mentioning her during his talk with Kingsley. Why it was so Harry could not figure out, but she felt like... like a secret. It made no sense, he knew, and leaving her out of his account left him feeling rather guilty, but even so he seemed incapable of telling Sirius about her. He did mention Mr Windyfield, though, but Sirius did not appear to harbour any deep fascination for him so Harry ended his tale soon afterwards.

By the time he was done, Sirius' earlier eagerness had melted away in favour of a more thoughtful look. There was a moment of complete silence before he nodded slowly. "Ten years... I suppose I should be... rejoicing...?"

Harry gave a somewhat awkward one-shouldered shrug. "I don't know."

"Hm." Sirius scratched at his chin. He had not shaved that morning and so there was a bit of a stubble covering it. It made him look even wilder, but not that Harry was complaining. "Do you know what I realised this morning? After you had Flooed to the Ministry?"

"No?"

"I realised that I am heartily sick of it all," said Sirius. "Of the war, of the Malfoys, of being angry... Of being angry with the Malfoys. Of the Malfoys being scared of Voldemort. Of us being scared of Voldemort _and _the Malfoys. Of you being scared of Voldemort. Of Voldemort being angry with you and with the Malfoys – for being scared of you. In fact, I'm bloody tired of everyone that was ever even remotely connected to anything that had something to do with either Voldemort or the Malfoys."

"Well, to be fair..." Harry had to bite down on his lower lip to keep from smiling. "Voldemort is dead and the Malfoys are being tried by the Wizengamot, and I am not scared any more."

Sirius made a sort of non-committal grunt in response. "Still," he said.

"So you'll be pleased to know that I didn't say a word during the trial?"

Sirius' eyes widened in surprise. "What? You just sat there?" He leaned forwards a little. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Harry confirmed, but failed rather miserably in working up much sarcasm with Sirius' face so close to his own. "I was there, you know."

"You didn't get involved? At all? Harry, are you feeling quite all right?" Sirius' hand darted out to press against Harry's brow, pretending to check him for fever.

Harry swatted away the hand but was unable to keep from laughing. "Yes! I'm perfectly fine."

"I don't know..." Sirius regarded him with mock concern, a deep furrow between his brows. "It must be unheard of... I mean, Harry Potter present in a courtroom and not..."

"Very funny." Harry cut across him, but still his smile would not go away. "I'm not Hermione, you know," he remarked.

At this, Sirius broke into a wide grin. "And thank Merlin for that!" His hands flew up in a defensive position, though. "Not that there's anything wrong with her, but," his grin transformed into a smirk, "between you and me, Harry, I never did feel particularly inclined to kiss her."

Something performed a sudden, and terribly nervous, somersault in Harry's stomach, but he tried to keep his smile steady and confident. "No?"

Sirius shook his head, with a soul-searching expression on his face. "No, can't say I ever did. Besides," he shrugged, "I reckon she's got Ronald to do that for her these days."

Harry felt ridiculously relieved. Never before his Return had Sirius' love life (or lack thereof) been a concern of Harry's, _but now_... And it was absolutely irrational given Sirius' clear proclamation of his sexual orientation, yet Harry was pleased to hear his godfather state explicitly that he had no romantic feelings for Hermione. But no sooner had he come to this conclusion, than he realised that what he _really_ ought to worry about was _male _competition and suddenly his head was filled with images of Bill and Charlie and George and even Ron prancing around shirtless before his godfather, but this was all too confusing (not to mention extremely unsettling) and he brutally forced his thoughts back in line. "Right," he managed, at last, somewhat weakly. "I guess she does."

Sirius' eyes lingered on his face and several long seconds of a dense silence followed, during which Harry had absolutely no idea what to say. He rather hoped Sirius would continue this discussion in some appropriate way, or perhaps steer it into territories that Harry was fairly certain neither Ron nor Hermione had ever desired to visit. But most of all he wished he was bold enough to reach for his godfather and kiss him like he had done that morning.

He was still desperately trying to unearth some courage when Sirius finally sat back and picked up the _Prophet _and made to resume his reading.

"I saw Kingsley, too," Harry blurted out.

Sirius' eyes shot to his face. "You did?"

"Yes." Harry nodded, and produced a very self-conscious grimace that surely had nothing in common with a proper smile. "I didn't think there'd be that many people around when I went to see him, but... Anyway, I saw him and he promised me he would have someone look into the issue of your recorded status."

Sirius made another one of those grunts and looked very unconvinced. And when he spoke, he made no attempt to keep the note of bitterness out of his voice, "Well... we'll see, won't we?"

"But he promised he would," said Harry, entreatingly. He hated to see his godfather like this: disappointed, disillusioned and dejected, and with just a hint of an ancient anger flickering in his grey gaze. "If we don't hear from him before the next trial..."

But Sirius was shaking his head, and he sighed. "Harry..." He briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they had softened.

"What?"

Sirius' smile was bleak. "Thank you."

Harry frowned, confused now. "For what?"

"For... fighting my battle for me – even though I'm not sure I like it. And for fighting for the Malfoys." He shook his head. "They certainly won't be thanking you so I'll do it now, on their behalf."

"But I haven't done anything yet."

"Oh, but you will. You will Floo to the Ministry and attend Narcissa's trial, and Draco's, and at some point you won't be able to stay silent and you'll save their sorry arses. But they won't be thanking you."

"You don't know that..."

But Sirius snorted. "I'd say it's a qualified guess."

Harry dared a tiny, appeasing smile. "But only a guess."

Sirius' lips twisted into an answering smile, but his was much more reluctant and almost held at bay. "Fine." He gestured at the stove. "Now: lunch. There should be some pie left, I think. I ordered Kreacher to put it under some heat preservation spell or other."

Wishing to avoid an argument, Harry obediently slid from his seat to investigate whatever was left for him to eat. He did turn a concerned expression to Sirius, though, before he began examining his findings. "Sirius, did you fight with Kreacher today?"

His godfather's face betrayed no shift in emotion. "Why would you think I had?"

"Because he referred to you as 'the dog' again, when I met him in the drawing room just now."

"He always calls me that," said Sirius offhandedly. "Forget it, Harry. Personally, I've stopped caring."

Harry was not convinced but he held his tongue, deeming it wisest to not launch into a new, most likely pointless, Kreacher-related debate. There were still too many sensitive issues around, he reflected silently, but poking at them seemed less than clever. He found a plate and cut himself a piece of the chicken and mushroom pie that was left on stove for him. A faint trail of steam rose towards the ceiling and Harry's stomach growled appreciatively.

Sirius had picked up the newspaper again and only threw Harry a glance over his shoulder. "Still warm?"

"Yeah."

"Good. It was scorching hot when Kreacher served it to me... I reckon he hoped I'd catch fire."

Grinning in spite of himself, Harry went in search of cutlery. It seemed the old house-elf had taken it upon himself to reorganise the whole kitchen. Unfortunately he seemed to be employing a somewhat questionable strategy. Harry was digging his way through the third drawer when Sirius spoke up again, in a very casual, almost impersonal, voice that drifted airily through the kitchen:

"Oh, by the way, Harry... Do you know what else was hot?"

He found a crooked fork that looked as though it had been used to bend open something immensely heavy and stubborn. "No...?" he asked, momentarily distracted.

There was a rustle of paper as Sirius turned a page. "That kiss of yours. This morning, in the fire."

Harry's heart missed a beat before it promptly crouched and leapt for his throat. Heat flooded his cheeks.

Sirius was not even looking at him; his godfather was frowning down intently at a picture of a shaking white blob that Harry could not care less about. "Mhm," Sirius continued, loftily. "I know I promised to take things slow and I will stand by that promise, but..." He paused. And looked up. His eyes were gleaming. "But I have to tell you... Another few seconds and I would have seriously considered pinning you to the floor and having my way with you right then and there."

"Oh," Harry choked out. Sirius' smirk was making his knees go weak.

"Oh indeed. And you would have forgotten all about trials and Malfoys and Warlocks because I would have fucked you into perfect oblivion."

Harry did not manage much more than a strangled groan. The floor was wobbling a bit under his feet and his mind was curiously blank. But his pulse was picking up a speed that was swiftly turning dangerous.

Sirius was watching him with his head cocked to one side, his smile perfectly devilish – and just about the sexiest thing Harry had ever seen. And that realisation made him blush even further. Sirius held his gaze for another agonising, bone-melting, frighteningly brilliant moment before he brutally severed the connection between them and turned back to his paper:

"Now, would you look at this: they've found a pot near Birmingham that brews its own tea!"

**TBC**


	20. A Dose of Reality

Moi giveth thee new chapter!

**Chapter 20 – A Dose of Reality**

They found ways to pass the time. Normally uncomplicated tasks such as sorting through hopelessly old and faded (and, more often than not, too mouldy for Harry's immediate liking) copies of the _Prophet_, or pairing up stray socks, or making tea, were stretched out into veritable projects made to last forever. When the grimy walls became too confining, they visited the park. If Sirius' persuasion efforts were successful, they went there twice a day, and Harry watched Padfoot dig his nose into rabbit holes and reacquaint himself with every shrub and visible root with such fervour that _Harry _felt exhausted. Still he cherished those walks. Sirius might be prone to occasional deep introspection these days but Padfoot certainly was not. Lifting a leg to mark a tree and soul searching were simply two utterly incompatible activities for him; and Harry found that to be wonderfully liberating.

Back at Grimmauld Place, Sirius worked his way through Regulus' room and his left-behind belongings, keeping this and tossing that away, and Harry left him to it. Sometimes he fancied himself seeing a slight change in the way Sirius carried himself, in the way he moved or spoke, as though he were finally casting the heavy legacy of the past off his shoulders. Harry imagined that his godfather was quicker to smile now and when Harry pleaded with him, he even allowed Kreacher to come upstairs to Regulus' room and claim whatever he wished from among his belongings as a token of remembrance. The house-elf spat and hissed and croaked and cursed at the sight of his old Master's room turned upside-down, but in the end he was appeased by a photograph of a young Regulus in his Hogwarts uniform, and a dusty old pillow which he stuck his long nose into for so long that his bulging eyes fluttered shut and Sirius suggested aloud to Harry that the elf was actually trying to suffocate himself.

And so the days passed, and while Harry could not completely shake the feeling of dread every time he saw Kreacher and Sirius in the same room, the state of fragile equilibrium lasted. On Thursday afternoon, however, Harry found himself face to face with brutal reality once again when a silver-sleek otter suddenly emerged through the drawing room wall and slithered up to him. It floated idly in its sea of air for a moment before it opened its mouth and delivered Hermione's message, short and to the point: "Hello Harry. Fire chat, in five minutes."

Sirius had raised his eyebrows at the Patronus and now he watched it as it attempted a little dive into the open glass-fronted cabinet. Its silky, shimmering body arched gracefully for a second or two before it dissolved into nothing.

"She certainly leaves no room for debate" Sirius observed. He was on his knees on the floor, once again trying to figure out a way to remove the Black family tree from its place on the wall. Immersed in his task, he had been running the tip of his wand alongside the edges of the tapestry but now he had exchanged his expression of deep concentration for one of amusement. "It was a good thing that you had Hermione with you on that Horcrux hunt, I reckon. I'm beginning to think she did all the work..."

Harry, who had half-heartedly been mending the old quilt, directed his wand at a small, black velvet cushion beside him and sent it flying through the room at Sirius.

His godfather deflected the attack with a quick swipe of his wand and the cushion performed an inspired little pirouette in mid-air before zooming back towards Harry to gracefully land in his lap. Sirius grinned. "Admit it, Harry, if Hermione told you and Ron to grow another pair of arms and dye yourself green, you'd already be trying to figure out how to Transfigure your jumpers."

"I wouldn't!" Harry protested. "Besides, Hermione only ever suggests reasonable things. She's... resourceful and level-headed."

"While you're the brave martyr and Ron's a hotheaded–"

"Ron is _passionate_," Harry objected, not granting Sirius the opportunity to finish, "about... stuff. And I'm not a martyr."

"No? I must have mistaken you for someone else, then." Sirius pointed his wand directly at Harry. "Did you not use the sacrifice of _yourself _as a means for Voldemort's destruction? "

Harry shifted uncomfortably where he sat in the sofa. "Well, yeah, but I had no other choice... And I never did die." They had already been through this once, on the night of his godfather's return, and he did not much care for a recollection of those events.

"But you didn't know you wouldn't," Sirius remarked. He had risen to his feet now, and was dusting off his knees. Then again, his black jeans were so faded it did not make much of a difference. "Which makes you quite the martyr, Harry."

"I..."

But Sirius was suddenly by his side and plopping down to sit beside him. Despite the grim subject of their conversation, his godfather's face was clear and there was a small smile playing on his lips. "You know, I'm terribly pleased you didn't die," he said, slowly.

Harry swallowed. There was something about the grey glimmer of Sirius' eyes that made it tricky to breathe properly. "Me too," he said. "And... likewise."

Sirius edged a little closer, his smile deepening at an alarmingly fast pace. "To tell you the truth..." He leaned in, then, and Harry's lips parted even before he was kissed. Sirius brushed their mouths together lightly. His murmur was a teasing rush of hot air into Harry's mouth. "I am most indecently and inappropriately pleased that you are not dead."

It was terribly unfair, Harry dimly concluded when they parted, that Sirius was allowed to look so at ease – so unbelievingly unruffled – after such an acknowledgement, when all Harry wanted to do was to melt into a puddle of perfect devotion at his godfather's feet. He felt warm all over as Sirius' hand landed on his knee and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Um, shouldn't we…" Harry managed, gaze reluctantly sliding to the fireplace.

With his free hand, Sirius lifted his wand, and with customary deliberate languor pointed it across the room. "_Incendio._"

The embers that had spent a good part of the past hour glowing with little zeal now flashed a hungry orange and sparks and flames sprang up and set about devouring whatever was left of the untouched wood. Sirius cocked an eyebrow at Harry and there was a satisfied, silent smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The sofa felt remarkably crowded. But curiously not in an unwelcome way.

Harry fought to speak normally. "She'll pop her head in at any moment…"

"Yes." Sirius inclined his head minimally, smirk still expertly in place. "I do believe that was the very essence of that message her Patronus delivered." He shifted half an inch closer, so that their thighs were pressed together and Harry could feel the warmth seeping from Sirius' body into his own.

"So… shouldn't we wait for her…?"

Sirius face fell a little and he heaved a sigh, "There you go again, Harry, with that word: _should_…" But it did not matter how adamantly he pretended to be upset, his eyes were still gleaming too much for Harry to take him all too seriously. "Besides, I don't see how we are doing anything _but_ waiting for Hermione's head to Floo in."

"Yeah, but…" Harry glanced down, at the distinctive lack of space between them.

"But?" Sirius' smirk was back in full force. "By all means, Harry, speak your mind." The hand that had been resting on Harry's knee slid a little higher up.

Tendrils of heat crept through Harry's thigh and over his cheeks. "I just don't think she expects us to, well, sit this close."

"I think that what you are thinking is absolutely correct." Sirius laid down his wand. "But I also think that I find waiting terribly boring." He was holding Harry's gaze steadily, fingertips pressing into his thigh ever so lightly. "Necessary at times, yes, but never particularly entertaining." His eyes narrowed just a tiny bit. "It is one of my most prominent character flaws, in fact: I was always an extraordinarily impatient being."

Harry licked his lips. They had gone very, very dry. He was fairly certain that Sirius was no longer talking about the upcoming chat with Hermione but about something else entirely. It was not easy but he made himself speak. "Sirius, I'm sorry, I don't mean to be…"

But his godfather shook his head and leaned in as close as he might, until he could bump his nose against Harry's. "Never be sorry for needing time," he mumbled, and his warm breath tickled Harry's lips. "I'm just an impatient old sod."

It was Harry who angled his head first, making their mouths brush together. He kept his eyes open although he could not have said why. Through the glass of his spectacles he watched, mesmerised, as the intense light in Sirius' eyes softened and how the lines around them multiplied as his godfather smiled into the cautious kiss.

They did not exactly part when it was over. Sirius lifted a hand and dragged a gentle fingertip over Harry's cheekbone. "I know it's a big step," he murmured. "And I know I'm not easy on you... But it's... it's been so long since I..." He bit his lip in a moment's hesitation. "Since I felt–"

"Sirius," Harry blurted out. The way his godfather was looking at him, the way he spoke – if this was going to go on... if Harry were to, one day in some not-too-distant future, allow Sirius to do things to him that he had never _dreamed_ of doing only two weeks earlier, Harry had to say something. And it had to be said _now._

A small frown had settled in his godfather's features. "Yes?"

Harry swallowed again. His throat felt raw and his heart was hammering in his breast. It was quite possible that this was likely to be worse than anything else he had ever done in his entire life. "You know I love you, yeah? I mean, I've told you so. Right?"

Sirius' frown deepened. "Yes," he said, almost warily. "And I've told you..."

"It isn't just that," Harry cut across him with some haste. Before he lost his confidence. "There's more." He wanted so desperately to look away from the older man's face but he forbade himself to avert his gaze. "I... I'm _in love _with you, Sirius."

"Harry..."

"No. I need to tell you this." Harry hated the way his godfather seemed to pull away from him without even moving. "I need you to know. And I need to say it. I... _I'm in love with you_."

His admission was met with a wall of compact silence. Even the flames in the fireplace seemed to hold still in shock. Gradually, what little air was left in Harry's lungs seeped out of them and it was ages until he dared to draw another breath.

Beside him, Sirius opened his mouth... and closed it. His grey eyes were wide.

And then the fire flared up with a hiss and Hermione's head appeared among the flames. "Harry?" she called, her head turning carefully from one side to the other. "Are you there?"

Sirius' hand that had been resting on Harry's thigh sprang away at once. It left an icy, cold patch of pure emptiness behind.

"Uh, yeah..." Harry barely knew what he was doing when he slid to his feet and stumbled across the floor. "Yeah... I'm here." He dropped down onto the carpet and leaned in close.

"Oh! Excellent!" Hermione smiled. "I can't tell you how uncomfortable this is. Ron said he'd bring me a cushion to kneel on, but then Mrs Weasley called for him and he had to run..." She cocked her head to the side so that half of her chin disappeared. "But it _is_ good to see you again, Harry. How are you doing?"

"I'm OK," he said, automatically. In the corner of his eye he saw Sirius getting to his feet. "I'm good. We're good." Apart from the fact that his heart felt heavy as stone and that it was beginning to hurt, that was.

The flickering fire did not hide the concern in Hermione's eyes. "Really? I do miss you, Harry. And so does Ron." She grimaced a little. "Wherever he is."

Harry gave a small smile. "I miss you too," he said, and realised in the same moment how very true that was. "How's everyone on your end?" he asked.

Hermione sighed. "To be honest, I don't know. It's so difficult to say. Ron's holding up... You know how he is – a second helping of pudding does wonders for him..." Her smile was slightly sardonic, and yet Harry did not miss the blatant affection underneath it. Nor the flash of sadness in her eyes.

"So you keep him well-fed?"

"Yes..." Her face fell a little. "It's mostly Bill and Fleur doing the cooking now, you see. It... Well, when it became obvious that Mrs Weasley would not cope with everything, they Flooed in from Shell Cottage..."

"Yeah... Because nobody in their right mind would let you anywhere near a stove," Harry gently teased her.

"I'm not that horrible," she protested meekly.

"Mm... I still recall feasting on mushrooms, Hermione," Harry grinned. "And more mushrooms."

"That's because I had nothing to work with. You can't just conjure food out of thin air, Harry. As well you should know, too. It's one of the Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration and–"

"Believe me, Hermione, _I know_._" _He dared to roll his eyes. "You already gave that lecture. About a thousand times before, remember?"

"Oh, fine. I only meant to say that..."

"You only meant to excuse your non-existent cooking abilities," he winked at her. But held up his hands in a placating gesture. "It's good though. You can't be an expert on _everything, _after all. That'd be... unnatural." Harry shook his head. "You'd be perfectly insufferable. Even worse than you are now."

Contrary to his expectations, Hermione's weak scowl vanished in favour of a loving expression. "Oh, Harry... I miss you. I really do! Are you sure you're OK? How is Sirius?"

For a short while there, Harry had forgotten entirely about his godfather but now he felt Sirius' hand, gentle, on his shoulder. The touch sent a frisson of itchy tension sliding through him and in that moment he could not speak.

But Sirius did it for him. "Hello Hermione." The older man sank down to his knees before the fire and Harry shuffled a bit to the side to give his godfather some space. The hand disappeared. "How is Arthur and Molly?"

Hermione smiled up at him. "Oh, hello Sirius." She nodded, chin dipping into the embers, and sighed again. "Mr Weasley is OK... more or less. Or so it seems, at least. He does go in to work most days. And there are lots of owls for him. Mrs Weasley doesn't really like that at all. She's... she's devastated. That's why Bill and Fleur came over... And Percy spends a lot of time at the Ministry, too... and George and Ginny mostly keep to themselves."

At the mention of Ginny's name, Harry's heart tied itself into a knot and sank into the pit of his stomach. Being in love with Sirius did not mean he had stopped caring about her.

Sirius inclined his head. "And how are you doing, Hermione?"

"Me?" She must have attempted a shrug of sorts because her head jerked oddly. "It's weird... All of it. But... I've got Ron." There it was again, Harry saw: that small, affectionate smile that spoke volumes, but which left a bitter tang in his mouth. Then she laughed, as though surprised. "I can't believe I'm actually saying that."

But Sirius only smiled. "You're lucky."

"Yes..." she said slowly. "I suppose I am. Although my knees could really use a cushion. Oh, but I am supposed to tell you about tomorrow."

Any smiles were brutally wiped away by those words. A raw churning of Harry's stomach made him wish tomorrow would never come. "What about tomorrow?" he asked, trying his best to sound appropriately reasonable.

"Well... the service starts at eleven," said Hermione, but even she could not mask the pain that welled up behind her eyes, shining bright in the fire. "But we should be there by ten thirty, at the very latest. Mr Weasley says there will be hundreds of wizards and witches from all over Britain attending the funeral." Her eyes darted to Sirius' face but she said nothing.

Harry nodded, deciding to focus on the logistics for now. "So we should be there at ten thirty, then. I suppose it'd be easiest to Apparate."

"Ah, yes, well... We'll be travelling by Portkey, actually," said Hermione. "Since Ginny is still underage she's not permitted to Apparate. And Mrs Weasley wants us to stick together."

"Underage?" Harry stared at her. "But surely they can't... She's been in a _war_, for Merlin's sake!"

"I know, Harry." There was a streak of resignation in Hermione's voice that told him this was not the first time she had heard that argument. "But she's still technically underage. So we will be using a Portkey. There is nothing stopping you and Sirius from Apparating, though." She bit her lip and looked at Sirius. "You will come, won't you, Sirius?"

Harry glanced at his godfather. He was pale but looked determined. "I will," he said. "I want to. I need to. It was... It's... Remus' funeral." His jaw clenched. "And people can react any way they see fit. I don't care."

Harry wanted desperately to touch him, to hug him, but he stayed still. "We'll be there," he told Hermione quickly. "Hogsmeade, yeah?"

She gave a thoughtful nod. "Yes. How about outside the Hog's Head? I can't imagine Aberforth will open tomorrow so there won't be much of a crowd there."

"All right. Sounds good."

"OK." Hermione gave a bleak smile. "Well... I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then."

Harry tried a smile, too, but it felt only awkward on his lips. "Yeah, see you tomorrow... Hermione?"

"Yes?" Her eyes lingered on his face and he wished she were more than just a talking head in a fire.

"Just, um... Tell everyone..." His throat was tight. "I... Just tell them that..."

"I will, Harry." She pressed her lips tightly together for a moment and blinked rapidly a few times. Then she took a deep breath. "Oh, this floor is digging into my knees! I'll see you both tomorrow."

He nodded, finding no more words. And unable to hide the tears that were stinging his eyes. The last he saw of her before she vanished, though, was her smile, and despite it being somewhat shaky, it was a comforting sight.

For a little while after Hermione had vanished, nothing happened. Harry sat staring into the shrinking fire, not really succeeding in feeling anything in particular; his mind kept wandering in all sorts of directions, almost all at once.

"You miss her." Sirius spoke quietly, and his voice sounded oddly flat.

Harry did not look up. "Yeah..." he admitted. "I mean... I spent _months _with Hermione on the hunt. It was only the two of us... after Ron and I argued and he left. I guess I got used to having her around."

"It's OK if you want to leave, Harry," said Sirius. "I understand."

"Leave?" This time he had to look up. His godfather's shoulders were hunched and there was a haunted gleam in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Sirius gave an awkward shrug. "If you want to go to The Burrow, it's fine. Honestly, I wouldn't blame you."

Something awfully cold wrapped around Harry's heart and squeezed. "But I don't want to leave," he managed, pushing the air past his aching throat. "I... I want to stay with you, Sirius." He reached out for his godfather, only held out a hand. A mistake, he discovered at once.

At the gesture, Sirius jerked away and sprang to his feet. Turning his back to the fireplace, he rubbed the heels of his hands into his forehead. "Harry..." His arms fell back to hang limp by his sides. "You don't understand."

Harry did not know what to say. He could not find the courage to stand, let alone demand an explanation. In the end, when it became evident that he was not going to come up with a reply, Sirius let out a sigh and turned to face him once more. "See... I don't know what this is." He spread his hands in some declaration of hopeless defeat, but to Harry it looked more as though he were grasping for something to hold on to. Something that just might steady him.

He still did not move as Sirius returned to his side and sank down to sit beside him on the floor again. His godfather's gaze slid over his face but did not linger there. "What you told me, Harry... I have never..." He rubbed the pad of his thumb into a stain of soot left on the carpet. "I loved James. And Remus. Maybe, for a time, even Peter. They were... the best mates I could ever have wished for." He shook his head, hair falling into his face. "I loved my years at Hogwarts... I even loved Lily..." he continued, "not because she and James produced this tiny, wrinkled, red-faced little monster that kept them up all night with its screaming and whatnot, but because she made him happy, you know. James, I mean." He flashed a crooked, soulless grin. Then he looked up, silvery eyes meeting Harry's. "He liked being a father."

Harry swallowed, hard. "He did?"

"Yeah." Sirius nodded slowly. "Damn proud of you, he was. I couldn't figure out why at first, but I suppose he saw something in you already then. Something I only got to see much later."

This time it was Harry who looked away. "I never wanted any of this," he mumbled. "I didn't ask for any of it."

Again, Sirius spoke softly. "For what, Harry?"

He kept staring into the carpet. "I... for this."

Sirius' fingers on his cheek were gentle, and yet the touch was almost unbearable. They slid to press lightly under his chin and urge him to lift his head. Sirius was watching him closely. "For all that I have loved," he said, in a low voice, "I don't think I've ever been in love, Harry."

With eyes stinging once more, Harry strove in vain to keep his voice steady. "Could you ever be?"

Sirius moved his fingers back to his cheekbone in a light caress. "If I could come back from the dead, I dare suggest anything is possible."

"You weren't dead."

But Sirius gave a small shake of his head. "You know what I mean." He brushed his knuckles over Harry's cheeks. "I know what you want to hear... but I can't say it. Not yet." Still his lips curved in a tentative smile. "But I will tell you this: I don't want you in The Burrow. I want you here. And I want you close. I want to speak with you, and hold you. And I even want to hear you plan your Grand Rescue of the Malfoys from the evil clutches of the Ministry..."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "That's not..."

"All right." Sirius relented with a grimace. His hand fell away. "I'm rubbish at this, Harry. You should have been able to predict that before you instigated this conversation."

If he'd had any sort of grasp on the situation up until now, Harry was quickly losing it. "But I needed to say it... I had to tell you. Because... I didn't – I don't – want it to be all about..." He swallowed. "Well, for me it's not just about..." _Sex. _He dropped his gaze to the floor.

What he did not expect was Sirius' hand on his shoulder, tugging him closer quite decisively. Still, he never objected, but let himself be enfolded in a fierce, mildly uncomfortable, but extraordinarily welcome embrace. Sirius pressed a kiss into his unruly hair and when he spoke his voice was notably gruff, "It's not, Harry. I promise you it's not."

Harry's glasses were cutting into his cheeks and Sirius' neck, and as much as he cherished his godfather's arms around him, he wormed his way out of his embrace before long. His face flushed as he stole a glance at Sirius. "I want that, too..." he admitted. "I mean, it's not as if I don't, it's just..."

But the time for sincere heart-to-hearts was obviously past for now Sirius waved a hand in dismissal. "I get it. You've never done it with a bloke before. But don't you worry. I'll set you straight." He grinned. "Or not, as it were."

Harry could not help a smile, but his insides squirmed nervously. However that had come to be, Sirius seemed to be under the impression that Harry had at least been with a girl before. Such a thing had, of course, never happened and yet Harry could not bring himself to divulge the truth.

"Plus," Sirius continued, unhindered. "I _am _your godfather, which undeniably is a detail significant enough to unsettle anyone." His eyes acquired a mischievous glimmer. "But as for myself, I find it rather... _inspiring_."

When Harry found nothing to say but could only stare at him, he laughed. "Well, don't you think it is at least … a little kinky? No?"

"Um..." Harry wasn't sure what was most unsettling: what Sirius was saying or the surprisingly pleasant rush of excitement that sped through him.

Sirius leaned in a little closer. "Come on, Harry..." he purred. "Admit it. You like the idea of sha–"

"All right," Harry cut across him, cheeks burning now. "Maybe. A little. But I never really thought about, not in that way."

"No?" Sirius sat back and heaved a sigh. "Oh, ye pure of heart..."

"Not that pure," Harry objected. Then he grinned. "Well, pure in comparison to your corrupted and twisted one."

"Corrupted?" Sirius gasped in feigned indignation. "You will take that back, Harry! At once! Or I won't check to see which one of your body parts that I hit with a string of hexes more sinister than you have ever seen the likes of before."

"Yeah?" Harry laid a hand on his wand. "What will you do to me?"

Sirius' eyes narrowed dangerously. "Oh, I just might... tame that hair of yours. So that it stops tickling my nostrils when I'm holding you."

"Very frightening," Harry laughed. He scrambled a bit closer and was happy when Sirius did not move further away but stayed put.

"Mhm." Sirius reached out and cupped the back of his head with one hand, bringing their mouths together.

They kissed long. Harry abandoned his wand and wove his fingers into his godfather's hair, not unafraid of whatever discussions such as these actually might result in, but too relieved that Sirius was still speaking to him to back away.

It became harder and harder, however, to keep track of any thoughts and possible repercussions as Sirius' hands wandered over his shoulders and brushed his neck with slightly calloused fingertips, sending a pleasant shiver across Harry's skin. Sirius kissed smoothly, without challenge or any sign of increasing wickedness. Yet Harry sank deeper and deeper into the rising desire to explore the warm skin of his godfather's chest, or map the muscles of his thighs beneath that worn denim. But he held still, even as he allowed Sirius to suckle his lower lip and steal a soft moan from him.

His blush made his skin sizzle with heat and Sirius smiled into the kiss as though he knew what was going on with Harry. Probably he did. And it might also be that he was feeling much the same. The idea would have made Harry's knees go weak if he had been standing. Sitting down, he felt as though his whole body was dissolving.

It took a year – at least – for the kiss to end. They pulled apart so extraordinarily slowly that Harry thought he might be breaking from the sheer brilliance of it. Sirius' lips were so soft and so gentle as they moved against his and by the time a bit of fresh air finally reached Harry's skin, he was dizzy. One of his hands was on Sirius' upper arm and the other lay numb in his lap. His godfather's breathing was slow and even, and very, very heavy. His eyelids were leaden, but Harry finally managed to blink open his eyes and Sirius' face swam into focus.

As soon as Harry saw his expression he wanted nothing more but to resume the kissing. There was too much of everything in his godfather's face and Harry could feel an answering pull from somewhere deep within, and a stab of heat such as he had never felt before went straight through him.

Something might have happened then – something Harry had originally wished to put off for a while longer – if the thick drawing room air had not been dislodged by a piercing _CRACK!_

They spun around as one.

And they were alone.

o.O.o

"Kreacher. It was Kreacher." Harry tapped the mattress restlessly with the tip of his wand. "He saw us. I just know he did."

"You'll set the bed on fire, Harry." Sirius dragged his t-shirt over his head.

A bit of moonlight was filtering through the curtains and a candle was burning atop the bedside cabinet but mostly the bedroom was wrapped in shadow.

Harry reluctantly let go of his wand. "He saw us, Sirius."

His godfather stepped out of his jeans. For once, his pale skin did not draw Harry's eye. "Yes, he probably did." Clad only in his briefs he sauntered over to the bed. "We've been over this already. Yes, it was probably Kreacher. Yes, he was probably spying on us. That's nothing new." Dropping down onto the mattress he met Harry's gaze. "It bothers you, what he saw." It was hard to interpret his tone of voice. There was an edge of sorts to it that made Harry cringe inwardly.

Sirius eyed him carefully. "If we don't put an end to this, Harry, it's going to come out. With or without Kreacher's help..."

"I don't mind..." said Harry, but he did not miss the lack of conviction in his own voice.

"Because things always come out. In the end," said Sirius. "Are you ready for that?"

"I..." Harry wished he knew what to say. He had been so desperate to tell his godfather of his feelings for him but it was an entirely different matter to have his friends and his extended family know what was actually going on in the Black residence. He glanced down. "Not yet," he admitted.

They sat for a while in silence, until Sirius straightened and reached for him. "Come here."

Depositing his wand and his glasses next to the candle and blowing the latter out, Harry eased himself down and moved into his godfather's arms. Sirius spooned up behind him and encircled his waist with a possessive arm. He buried his nose in Harry's hair and exhaled. "Let's not do any more thinking today," he suggested. "Let's forget about Kreacher, yeah?"

Harry nodded into the pillow. Contrary to Sirius, he was wearing a t-shirt but he could not really say why. He wondered what might happen if he took it off.

But he never got the chance to find out for Sirius' hand on his belly moved to catch one of Harry's own hands instead and, twining their fingers together, he brought them to a rest near Harry's heart. "I don't want to think about anything," Sirius mumbled into his hair. "Not about Kreacher or any of us dying or fires or... tomorrow." He drew a ragged breath. "I don't want to think about tomorrow, Harry."

The room was nothing but a dark blur and so Harry closed his eyes. Sirius pressed against him in search only of comfort, nothing else. It was a relief, to tell the truth, because right now that was the one reality Harry thought he could handle.

**TBC**


	21. The Friends, the Family and the Secret

**Hey, it's only been 10 months! Thanks for being patient. **

**Chapter 21 – The Friends, the Family and the Secret**

The next morning came all too quickly for Harry's liking. As if nothing at all of any intimate nature had ever transpired between them, he and Sirius obediently climbed out of bed and set about their business, with barely a word between them. The morning was a sullen grey and suggested rain later in the day, and the dismal light that filtered through the grimy window-glass made Harry shiver.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched his godfather as he, upon his return from the bathroom, shuffled around in his wardrobe for something suitable to wear. In the end he simply dragged on yesterday's jeans. Most everything he owned seemed to be in the same state as those: faded and frayed and too loose-fitting. It should not make Sirius more attractive in Harry's eyes but somehow it did. For his own part he could still vividly recall the rejection that lay imbued in the receiving of Dudley's hand-me-downs; if he tried he could still remember the weight of Dudley's baggy jeans on his narrow hips, and the jumpers large as tents that he'd been tossed when his cousin had decided he no longer wanted them. They had never made him feel particularly confident. Or attractive, he supposed, even though that thought had seldom crossed his mind at the time, but Sirius, battered and abused by life as he was, somehow managed to carry his clothes with some kind of attitude that Harry had never mastered.

Somewhat uncertainly, Harry took a step towards him. The floorboards underneath the carpet whined faintly as he took another. Then, in one bold move, Harry padded barefoot across the room and stepped up close to Sirius. Very close. Close enough, in fact, to stand behind him and place a palm on his hip and feel a patch of his bare skin, warm under his touch. There was a line of tension across Sirius' shoulders and Harry leaned in, slowly and warily, and with his heart pounding, until his chest brushed ever so lightly against his godfather's shoulder blades. When Sirius did nothing to discourage him, Harry pressed a soft kiss into his pale skin, near his neck, and felt the longish black hair tease his cheek.

He did not earn a reaction immediately, but then Sirius let go of a deep breath and tipped his head back a little, so that his hair fell fully into Harry's face.

"I don't want to do this, Harry."

It felt like the punch of an iron-cold fist to his guts. For a second or two he was genuinely terrified – until he realised that Sirius was not talking about whatever it was that was happening between them.

"All my friends, Harry," Sirius continued, and his voice was low and strained. "They're all dead. All of them."

"Not all of them," said Harry, thinking about Mr Weasley and Kingsley, but knowing even as he spoke that Sirius was right. His godfather had never been close to any of the remaining Order members – not in the way that he had been close to Remus and Harry's own father.

Sirius shook his head, dejectedly. "This wasn't how it was supposed to be."

Harry swallowed hard. "I know," he whispered. Without thinking, he encircled his godfather's waist with his arms and held on. "I know."

o.O.o

The Hogsmeade sky was overcast and the threat of rain hung low around the chimneys and rooftops, more imminent here than it had been back in London. Their aim had been slightly skewed, whether by carelessness or vague distraction Harry was not sure, but instead of ending up off the corner of the Hog's Head, Apparating had left them opposite the doors to the post office. Sirius muttered something under his breath when they realised this but Harry did not bother to ask him to repeat it. The High Street was crowded and he had no wish to draw any eyes to either of them.

Harry kept his head down as he and Sirius began seeking a way through a never-ending stream of people. Some were walking in the same direction, steering south out of the town, but the majority were moving upstreet, probably making for the Three Broomsticks to meet up with friends or family. It could have been chaotic but it was not. There was the sound of hundreds of feet on gravel but few words permeated the damp chill. When Harry stole a glance at unfamiliar faces he found them pale and drawn, and he wondered if he looked much the same.

He missed his godfather's touch. He stole glances at Sirius' face, too, whenever he thought it safe, and the delicate lines and shadows he saw there made his heart ache. He wished with every fibre of his being that they were alone. He wished that Sirius could hold him, or that he could hold Sirius, perhaps. But most of all, Harry wished that someone, someone who knew, would tell them that everything was going to be all right.

They slipped off the High Street and into the lane that led down to the Hog's Head. The crowd was thinner here and Harry dared to walk a little closer to Sirius. Apparently, for once, it did not matter that he was Harry Potter and in the company of an officially pronounced, and generally presumed to be, bloodthirsty lunatic and mass murderer.

_Not to mention dead._

But no one seemed to care. No one looked twice or – for the most part – even once at him. It almost felt like being invisible, as though someone had pulled his Invisibility Cloak over him and Sirius, unbeknownst to them. It was a relief, of course, yet somehow it did not serve to make him any happier. He supposed it was oddly fitting, somehow. _This is a day for dead _people, Harry thought glumly as they passed a small bakery with a battered sign hung on the door to announce it closed for the day.

_All my friends are dead_, Sirius' voice echoed as a response through his mind. _They're all dead..._

_Dead, dead, dead._

Harry shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around himself.

They were almost alone in the narrow road by the time they reached the pub and discovered that Hermione had been right in her prediction that Aberforth would not open today. The Hog's Head had never nurtured a particularly welcoming ambiance but now the place looked even more shabby and unappealing than usual. As they approached the barred entrance, a first icy drop of rain landed on Harry's forehead and he was just about to suggest that they should put up a shielding charm when he caught Sirius smiling fondly at the dingy inn.

"Wha–"

But Sirius cut him off with a small shake of his head. Then his smile faded a little and he sighed. He turned his face to Harry and there was suffering in his grey eyes. "Just... memories."

Harry eyed him carefully. He reckoned that if Sirius had not wanted him to know, he would never have said anything. But he still kept his voice soft as he asked, "What memories?"

Sirius looked again at the forbidding front door and though whatever it was he was remembering seemed to pain him, the traces of his smile would not go away entirely. "Well..." His eyes grew distant and Harry could almost see in his face the way his godfather reached deep into his past to drag forth his tale.

"See..." Sirius continued, his low voice blending with the greyish air that lay in heavy folds around them, "James had this idea... We were around fifteen... It must have been at the start of our fifth year. Yeah. Anyway, James was frustrated since he couldn't perform some spell. I don't remember which one. Something from Transfiguration." Ever so slowly, in the wake of his words, his face brightened. "He spent the better part of a week trying to master that spell." He suddenly grinned at Harry. "And that was unusual. Your dad was a very talented wizard and he knew it, so for James Potter to devote almost an entire week to studying a single spell had previously been unheard of."

Harry found himself grinning in response. Given his knowledge of his father's character and having known Hermione Granger for as long as he had, he could very easily imagine his father's frustration at his own inability to achieve perfection.

"But no matter how hard he tried, he never got the hang of it," said Sirius. "And it haunted him to no end. So he came up with the idea that someone at the Hog's Head might be able to help him."

Harry had not expected that. "What?" he asked, inelegantly.

Sirius chuckled. "Yeah... This place has always been full of dodgy types, you know. James was certain he could find someone knowledgeable enough to show him how to go about the spell, whatever it was, without bothering about us kids being in the wrong place at the wrong time of night. And he persuaded me to tag along. Remus refused, saying we were mental to sneak out of Hogwarts on a school night, and even more stupid for going here." He gestured at the pub. "He was right of course."

"So did you?" asked Harry. "Did you sneak out?"

"Of course we did. We found a back entrance to the pub as well – I heard they barred that one afterwards – and Jamie even managed to pilfer a bottle of Firewhiskey from a storeroom before we were discovered and promptly chucked out the front door."

Harry's eyes went to the ground at his feet, trying to imagine his dad and Sirius lying sprawled in the gravel before an angry Aberforth. He looked up at his godfather again and smiled. "You were thrown out?"

"Before James could even spot someone to voice his request to," Sirius grinned. "So there was nothing to do but to return to Hogwarts. But at least we had the whiskey, we thought. James proclaimed that if he couldn't find a wizard to help him, at least some alcohol might help settle his nerves and calm him down enough so that he could try his hand at the spell without too much thinking. You know, the way he usually did it. Alas..."

Harry raised his eyebrows in silent inquiry. Another raindrop landed on his forehead.

"Well, it was dark where we were going," said Sirius, his eyes glimmering with amusement now. "We were coming closer to Hogwarts and didn't dare risk some light... and we had no idea that the Whomping Willow's roots were so long and thick so far from the actual tree. James got his foot stuck under one that lay atop the ground and... well, he tripped and lost his hold on the bottle – which crashed to the ground and spilled all of its contents into the grass."

It was a strange day to be laughing but Harry could not help it. "What did you do?"

Sirius shrugged. "What could we do?" We cleaned up the glass – the evidence – and sneaked back into the dorm, a bit worse for wear. Moony, bless him, never said a word... But he did give us loads of long I-told-you-so looks." Sirius grew silent.

Harry felt the traces of his laughter leaving him. He watched as his godfather dropped his gaze to the ground. "Sirius... it's..." He did not know what he wanted to say, indeed what he _could_ say.

But maybe that was enough. Sirius sighed and reached for Harry, pulling him into his arms and holding him close. The rain-damp world receded as Harry buried himself in Sirius' embrace and felt his godfather's shaky breath skid his temple. "Bless him, Harry," Sirius mumbled into his unruly hair. "Bless all of them."

For a while, all Harry knew was Sirius' breathing. It was only when he was certain beyond a doubt that it wouldn't stop that he found his own eyes to be closed and stinging with tears. He blinked them away as he backed out of the hug. Sirius let him go reluctantly. His voice was rough as he watched Harry adjust his glasses on his nose. "When all this is done, Harry..."

"Harry! Sirius! Over here!"

Hermione's call cut through the chill efficiently but it was kept low enough so as not to attract any unwanted attention. Despite this, Harry's head jerked up and his cheeks flooded with heat. Coming towards Harry and Sirius was the entire Weasley clan, all red hair and dark cloaks. He wondered what they had seen, if they had noticed... A glance at Sirius' face told him his godfather might be thinking much the same.

But Harry had little time to begin worrying about the consequences of being found out before Mrs Weasley caught him in a fierce hug. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her hair was matted but she still smelled the same: of _home._ Harry returned the hug and blinked away new tears. Hopefully, his and Sirius' hug had looked similar: as an action between two people in need of comfort. Which was the truth, he had to remind himself, and yet...

"Oh, Harry, my dear," Mrs Weasley near-sobbed. "My dear, dear Harry..."

In the end, it took the well-measured tones of her husband and Bill's gentle but firm hands to convince her to let go. Harry had barley adjusted his glasses a second time before another brother slid in between him and Mr Weasley.

"Harry." Percy was pale but collected. On his dark robes, perfectly crease-free, near the collar on his right-hand side gleamed a small pin in the shape of an "M". For the Ministry, Harry supposed. "I would like to take this moment to thank you for your sacrifice in the last battle," Percy said in unusually pompous tones, even for him. His horn-rimmed glasses were immaculately polished. "On the behalf of the entire magical population I hereby express my immense gratitude for your actions that led to the absolute immolation of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." He held out his hand for Harry to shake.

Behind him, Harry could see Ron rolling his eyes and making a face. Harry accepted Percy's hand. "Um... yeah. Thanks."

Percy inclined his head in a way that made it look like it weighed a ton. "Truly, it is in times of such peril that we as a community must look to..."

"Yes, thank you, Perce!" Next to his broad-shouldered dragon-keeping brother, Percy looked like a willow branch. "Hey Harry. Good to see you again." Charlie greeted Harry with a powerful clap on the shoulder and a grin. His eyes were a bit duller than when Harry had last seen him, though. "Sirius! It's been a while..."

It took them several minutes to get the greetings out of the way. When Harry finally came face to face with Ginny, he had no idea what to say but she solved the problem for him by simply giving him a hug. Familiar scents rushed over him as her hair brushed his cheek and for a heartbeat or two it almost felt like being back at Hogwarts, before the battle and before Sirius. But then she pulled back and the moment was gone.

She didn't say anything to him but still Harry felt relived. He hoped that the hug meant that she did not hate him. Then he felt eyes on him and realised Mrs Weasley was watching him with an expression he could not read. Harry quickly averted his eyes and turned to Ron and Hermione instead, just in time to hear her conclude her scolding of Ron's mocking of Percy's little speech.

"But _the entire wizarding world_?! C'mon Hermione, that's daft." Ron glanced towards his older brother with suspicion written all over his face. "I bet he thinks of himself as the Minister or something... Maybe he took some curse to the head that we never saw?"

"Oh, Ron, just leave him be, will you!"

"But what _if_, Hermione! What if he's actually walking around with his brain all muddled?"

"That would make you two of a kind. If that were true, you should get along splendidly..."

Harry trudged along, half a step behind them, letting their bickering lead the way. Sirius had ended up ahead of him, walking alongside Charlie. They seemed to be talking but Harry could not make out any words. It was pathetic, he suspected, but he already missed having Sirius beside him. At the head of their little caravan were Mr and Mrs Weasley and Percy, followed by Ginny and George. Harry wondered if he would ever get used to seeing George without Fred. If George would ever get used to that.

Bill and a pretty but pale Fleur brought up the rear, walking hand in hand and speaking softly in an English sprinkled with an assortment of French words. In comparison to Ron and Hermione, the sound of their voices had a rather more soothing effect.

It was impossible to say what he was feeling as Harry allowed his feet to carry him in whatever direction he was supposed to be going. Behind him, beyond the lake, far away in another time, lay Hogwarts – that place of magic and wonder, of friendship and – he caught a flash of Ginny's red hair ahead – and what he had once thought might be love... He briefly closed his eyes.

_And pain and destruction and loss and death. _

He raised his eyes to look about him. And he was surprised. He had thought them quite cut off from the rest of the funeral guests but now more and more people seemed to surround him, popping up all around himself, Ron and Hermione, until they became part of a endless stream of dark-clad wizards and witches, moving steadily onwards. They seemed to come from every direction, all of them joining the long row of people walking slowly southwards, out of Hogsmeade and into a small field that lay beyond it.

The sway and flow of robes was almost hypnotic and Harry let his thoughts stray. It was not until the first faint whisper of "Harry Potter" sliced through the bleak midday air that he realised the magic from before was gone and curious eyes were seeking him out and soft murmurs rose around him where he walked. That was also when he saw the Weasleys' cleverly thought-out plan for the first time: trying to reach him would never work because Harry Potter was safely shielded by a stubborn wall of friends. The realisation hit him hardest when George slid out of his mother's grasp to block the passage of a middle-aged wizard with a camera and a bright blue quill tucked behind his ear.

_Friends, _Harry thought, with a hard lump forming in his throat. _Family. _

Thankfully, he was saved from being caught crying in a photograph by Ron who grabbed hold of his arm and yanked him closer. "Harry, tell Hermione that nobody's ever had their brains turned into pudding from eating too much dessert!"

But their bickering gradually died down, as did the building excitement around Harry, as the road rose gently and then fell to flow down into a shallow valley. The wet air grew silent around them once more as the old, cracked and beaten, stone wall encircling the Hogsmeade graveyard came into view. A dark green ivy wove its way through the stone and here and there holly trees with sharp, glistening leaves presided over particularly grand and intricately carved tombstones. Over the monotone crunch of gravel, Harry could hear Mrs Weasley sobbing again. The world was grey and green, and it became heavier to breathe.

Then there was light. High up in the cloud-ridden sky, beyond the stone wall that encased the graveyard something glistened of gold. It held still for a while as the train of funeral attendants crept closer. Harry craned his neck to see, having no choice but to move with the others, but he could not make out what it was. Then, as the first guests filed through the wrought iron gates, the golden light began to pour down, fanning out from a pinpoint in the sky. Down it flowed, like a gentle rain of stardust, creating a shimmering canopy. There was nothing else, no music and no singing, only this ever-flowing gentle light set to hold the gloom of the day at bay.

Long rows of cushioned benches were arranged in a secluded corner of the graveyard and Harry would have been content with a seat in one of the back rows, but obediently followed as Mr and Mrs Weasley wove their way through the benches until they stood before the very front row. Harry was about to ask when Percy one again appeared at his elbow and nodded regally at the arrangement, apparently undisturbed by Charlie's earlier attempt at shutting him up. "As a representative of the executive powers of the witches and wizards of Great Britain it is my pleasure to announce that the Ministry has organised it so that you and yours may share seats in the front row," he told Harry proudly.

Harry frowned, confused. "By that you mean me and, well, you?" He gestured at Percy and his family.

A small frown settled in Percy's features. "Yes," he said, somewhat awkwardly.

"Great," said Harry. "Thanks."

He was not feeling great, however, as he took his seat. The grass was wet and more raindrops were falling through the cascade of light above. Hermione picked the seat on his right and for a moment Harry was worried that someone else would...

He looked around and caught Sirius' eye over Charlie's shoulder. Harry did not know what kind of message he succeeded in sending but when his godfather quickly came to claim the seat to his left, Harry felt some of the anxiety drain from him. They did not touch, but Sirius' mere presence was comforting. Harry meant to say something while all around him the guests filled the benches, but nothing came to him. Ron was seated beside Hermione and for once, he too, was silent.

It felt surreal, Harry decided, as a tall solemn wizard in a heavy black cloak stepped out before them on the sodden patch of grass, under a gnarled old holly tree. He was joined shortly by a more familiar face: Kingsley Shacklebolt was dressed in a full-length sea blue tunic with the sleeves edged in silver embroidery. He wore a matching fez and though he did not smile, his eyes were kinder as they swept over the assembled. Following his example, Harry threw a glance over his shoulder and discovered that all the benches had not been enough. People were standing, sitting on the stone wall, had Conjured their own stools and chairs, while others were actually floating, seated, in mid-air. Unlike the scene at Dumbledore's funeral, this ceremony looked to be attended only by humans.

His gaze swept over pale faces and red-rimmed eyes. Many were already crying. He saw an elderly couple clutch at each other and the man turn his face away and say something to his wife when Harry happened to catch his eye. He saw a small girl pointing at the source of light above and her mother brushing away tears before managing to answer. Then he noticed the Muggles. Harry did not make the connection at once, but they were too expertly dressed in Muggle wear to be wizards and witches. There were not many of them, but they were there. Harry saw a Muggle mother and father standing by their wizard son's side as he stared blankly into space, a single pink rose in his hands. Sisters, brothers, mothers, fathers... It was only now that he realised that far more people than he had ever understood had been affected by Voldemort's cruelty. So many people Harry had never known existed...

He was about to turn back when he spotted her. With a pang of affection, Harry watched as Minerva McGonagall, her chin held high and her lips a thin line, but with dark patches under her eyes that were too prominent to be missed, led a small procession through the settling crowd. Harry's throat tightened at the sight of the other heads of the Hogwarts Houses as they followed their Headmistress into the small grassy opening before the guests. They lined up beside her: Professor Flitwick for Ravenclaw, with a large handkerchief loosely stuffed into a coat pocket, Horace Slughorn for Slytherin, slightly less polished and thriving than normal, and Professor Sprout for Hufflepuff, eyes glistening with tears but with a gentle smile for the crowd. Harry supposed, as they arranged themselves, that Professor McGonagall for now at least retained her position as head of Gryffindor. Somehow, that constant comforted him.

And it was as though their arrival sparked a clearer vision in Harry. Slowly emerging in the crowd were now familiar faces, and small, bleak smiles aimed for him. There was even a timid wave or two. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan stood shoulder to shoulder over by the stone wall, only a few paces from Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet. He spotted Padma and Parvati seated only two rows behind him, with a man and a woman Harry could only assume were Mr and Mrs Patil beside them. More faces: Lee Jordan appeared from out of nowhere to punch George on the shoulder in a wordless gesture of support. And there was Neville and old Mrs Longbottom, looking calm and collected but proud most of all, as she ushered her grandson to a couple of empty seats on Harry's front row with the help of her bright red handbag, the stuffed vulture atop her hat bobbing in tune. Harry found he could smile at Neville's obvious discomfort at his grandmother's wordless insistence.

"You know," Hermione suddenly whispered to him, "Viktor wrote me and asked if I would appreciate him coming over for today."

Harry tore his eyes away from Mrs Longbottom's hat. "Krum?" he asked, perplexed.

"Yes," Hermione hissed, throwing a glance over her shoulder at Ron, but he did not appear to be listening. "He had read about the funeral and wrote to tell me that it would be no trouble at all for him to journey here to stand by my side in 'these times of sorrow and trial'." She gave a crooked smile. "It does have a certain charm."

Harry scanned her face. "Would you have liked that?"

She grimaced. "I don't know. No. Maybe? I mean, we _are_ friends."

"Yeah." At least that was true for Hermione's part. Harry was not so sure if that corresponded perfectly to what Krum had in mind.

"In any case, I told him it might not be such a great idea," said Hermione. "What with... everything. And all."

"You mean Ron?" asked Harry.

She looked as though she were about to roll her eyes. "Yes, _Ron_," she almost mouthed. "I haven't really told him yet, about us."

Harry frowned. "You haven't told Ron..."

"_Viktor_."

"Oh, right."

"Really Harry..." she huffed imperiously, "It's no wonder it didn't work out for you and Ginny." But as soon as the words had left her mouth she clasped a hand to it and her eyes grew wide. "Oh, I'm sorry, Harry!"

He stared at her, not really sure what he was hearing. "You know?" he said, finally, barely able to get the words out. He felt a first squirm of fear deep in his stomach.

Hermione nodded wordlessly. Slowly she lowered her hand from her mouth and clutched it to her heart instead. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to... See, Ginny was so upset and at first she wouldn't tell me anything but in the end I really do think she needed somebody to talk to."

"Right..." Harry felt numb and his head was spinning. He had completely forgotten that he was in the Hogsmeade graveyard waiting for the funeral to begin. He was, however, acutely aware of Sirius sitting next to him and possibly overhearing every word Hermione was saying. "So, um, what did she tell you?"

Hermione sighed. "That it is over between you. Oh, Harry, really? Don't you think that you could maybe... work things out?" Her brown eyes were pleading with him. "She's not angry with you, I promise."

"Uh, good," said Harry distractedly, because, well, that _was_ good. Mostly, however, he was trying to find anything in Hermione's earnest gaze that would tell him if she knew about him and Sirius. A very uncomfortable sort of tension was wrapping around his lungs.

"_Yes_," Hermione said with emphasis. "That is good. Harry, please just consider it, won't you? She misses you so much and you were always in love with her. I mean, I know you fancied Cho for a while but I always know that you _actually_..."

"Hermione," he cut across her, quietly but sharply. "It's not going to happen." Before she could protest, he ploughed on, keeping his voice as low as he possibly could. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but I can't."

"But why not, Harry?"

Would she ask if she knew? He decided she would not, if only to be able to breathe properly.

"I..." he hesitated. He wished he could tell her, he truly did, but there was no way he was going to share his feelings for Sirius with Hermione. Not here and not now. And especially not before he knew what Sirius felt... If there was any chance at all that his godfather could reciprocate his feelings. With an effort he pushed his worries aside. "I just... can't," he said, weakly. "It's just not... what's going to happen."

She looked crestfallen but did – thankfully – not press the matter further. Harry tried to give her a sympathetic smile but he very much doubted that she bought it.

With a sense of powerlessness, Harry settled back in his seat. He did not much relish the notion of keeping secrets from Ron and Hermione – not from anyone, really – but certainly not from them. Yet he could think of no other way to go about this.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost jumped when Sirius covered his hand with his own. Harry's eyes shot to his godfather's face and stayed there, even as Sirius slowly pulled his hand down between their thighs to hide their physical contact from plain view. Sirius was looking at him with an unreadable expression in his features. His grey eyes seemed darkened somehow and deeper, yet his face was curiously blank. Still he kept looking at Harry, as though he might – if he tried hard enough – read his mind. Before that intense gaze, Harry lost track of his breathing and a low burning began somewhere in the pit of his stomach, taking the place of the fear of discovery. Then the moment was gone, and Sirius' face relaxed. Not sure of anything any longer, Harry tried his luck and twined his fingers with Sirius'.

In the bleak light tinged with gold he was almost certain his godfather was about to smile, but then the ceremony began.

TBC


	22. An Unexpected Offer

OMG, an update!

**Chapter 22 – An Unexpected Offer**

In the end, it was a simple ceremony. And long. And Sirius held his hand throughout.

It made it hard to focus. When Kingsley spoke of bravery and sacrifice, Harry could not help but recall his godfather's haunted face upon his Return. When Kingsley spoke of friendship, it inevitably caused Harry to ponder what lay beyond; some of the clear distinctions he had always known had evaporated into thin air within the course of a few days. Then again, perhaps it hadn't always been that simple. With a furtive glance to his his right, he forced himself to admit that maybe he had – over the years – managed to, a little too successfully, convince himself that whatever was going on between Ron and Hermione could wait. That it could be dealt with later. When everything else was done and the power of friendship had prevailed. But that was now and Harry had to face the truth. Change was hurling towards him, and fast at that.

And Sirius... Had they ever really been friends? More than friends? Less, even?

But that was too complicated. If things were truly changing there was no point in trying to decipher the past.

His godfather's profile was grim in the blend of the magical, golden light above and the general dreariness of the day. And it was unsettling and even a bit embarrassing but Harry suddenly wished the Minister would stop talking in that deep, comforting voice and end the ceremony so that Harry could kiss Sirius.

His godfather must have sensed his eyes on him for he turned his face to Harry's and though no particular expression passed over it, it was enough attention focused on him that Harry felt a bit guilty. Sirius' grey eyes were a perfect mirror of the enchanted light and Harry could not help himself. He held his godfather's gaze long enough to feel a thrill pass through him, and then another. There was a peculiar collection of power in Sirius' calm gaze and for a second time that day it made Harry almost breathless. Then Sirius turned back to face Professor McGonagall who was apparently taking Kingsley's place before the assembled guests.

Harry knew he should listen, knew very well that he should allow the moment to take hold of him. And he did. But he also had a sneaking suspicion that his and Sirius' mourning in private had done more for him than this gathering could ever do. Still, his heart swelled when McGonagall at last raised her eyes as if to appraise the crowd and – in a manner strongly reminiscent of Dumbledore – called her students to rally under the banners of solidarity, acceptance and comradeship. He appreciated, then, her previous uncharacteristic softness but was even more pleased that all of the sharpness and determination had not left her voice.

And it seemed that Harry was not the only one affected by her words. Here and there, in response, a low murmur of agreement erupted but it was not until Lee Jordan jammed his fist into the golden-tinged air and cried "Hogwarts!" that people began turning in their seats.

Professor McGonagall, seemingly unperturbed by this unscheduled display of emotion merely raised an eyebrow and stated sourly, "It grieves me to conclude, Mr Jordan, that it would appear that not even post-war circumstances are capable of instilling in you even the smallest appreciation of protocol."

Then there was laughter.

o.O.o

The tombstones were all identical, save for the names engraved on them. They were white, but unlike Dumbledore's crispy snow-white tomb, these stones were cut through with veins of powdery pink and soft grey. Endless rows of marble that could have weighed heavy on Harry's heart but, to his surprise, did not.

They left the Weasleys by Fred's stone by unspoken agreement. He and Sirius moved on, their eyes skimming the names, expecting and yet dreading... But in the end it was not the names that revealed the stone they were seeking but the woman beside it who turned to greet them.

Andromeda Tonks was wearing a bulky cloak and a pointed hat, and much like everybody else she looked unnaturally pale. But she stood with a straight back and as Harry drew closer, he saw the reason for why there was still a light in her eyes. In her arms, sleeping soundly was the baby. The son of Lupin and Tonks that they had all raised their glasses to in Shell Cottage so long ago.

He had no idea what to say.

But Mrs Tonks did, and she smiled. "This is your godson, Harry. Here is Teddy."

He was tiny. And his hair was a light brown. He lay with his small hands curled into fists but breathed softly. Harry looked up at Mrs Tonks, unable to swallow down the first words that came to him. "He, um, looks normal..."

But she didn't seem to take offence. Instead, much as though she had expected precisely such a reaction, she nodded softly. "When he sleeps. When he sleeps he has his mother's natural hair colour." She looked past Harry and added gently. "His mother's... and his father's."

Behind him, Harry could hear the sound of Sirius' breathing, suddenly strained. He turned to look at his godfather and fresh pain welled up in his chest. Sirius was staring at Teddy and Andromeda Tonks, his eyes shining with tears.

Mrs Tonks took a small step forward with her eyes still on Sirius. "Would you like to hold him, cousin?"

It was Harry's turn to stare. Very slowly the pieces clicked into place and he had to look again at the elderly lady before him. Her hair was the same light brown as her grandson's. Her eyes dark and yet bright.

_Bellatrix's sister_, he remembered, as though he had once forgotten. Maybe he had. _Narcissa's sister._

Half a step behind him, Sirius was holding out his arms and as if in a trance, he accepted Remus' son into an uncertain embrace.

"Sometimes," said Mrs Tonks quietly. "I imagine that they can all see us. That my daughter is right here beside me. That her husband is beside her, and that Ted is looking up from his paper wondering when supper will be ready." She shook her head, blinking away tears. "And, you know what? Sometimes I think I am right."

After Sirius, it was Harry's turn to hold Teddy. The baby weighed nothing at all, it seemed to him, when he was settled in Harry's arms, but he began snoring. This earned Harry a cautious punch in the shoulder from Sirius. "He's already bored of you, Harry." And Harry grinned. Because he really could do nothing else in the face of Sirius' sudden glee.

They parted not long after that, Mrs Tonks once more pulling a corner of her cloak over Teddy and smiling at Harry. "You're welcome to see him any time you like," she said. "I know my daughter and son-in-law wished for you to be a part of his life." Then she looked up at Sirius. "I dismissed the rumours at first... I could not believe it but I'm pleased to see that I was wrong. You are welcome back, cousin. _Most_ welcome back."

"I'd forgotten," Harry said quietly as they left the grave, threading a path through the stones. He knew people were watching him, casting curious looks at both him and Sirius. He evaded their eyes but still felt them on his back and his face.

Sirius was looking down at the ground as they slowly wound their way between the tombstones, walking in no particular direction at all. "She was always kind to me."

"She is happy you're back."

He nodded. Then, after a long silence, "Remus has a son, Harry. He actually has a son."

"Yeah... my godson."

To his surprise, Sirius threw him an odd glance. "Yeah..." A furrow appeared between his dark brows. "Harry... Does that...?"

The crowd was not dispersing yet. People were walking from grave to grave, now and again embracing, but mostly standing before the headstones in silent reverence. A low murmur lay like a mist around them.

"What?" Harry regarded him, uncomprehending, but Sirius only shook his head.

"Come," he said, "let's find a place to talk."

Harry followed his godfather away from the rows of tombstones and out in the field. It took him a while to realise that they were headed for a group of deep-green holly trees that might offer some privacy. Sirius glanced around before he circled them and found a fairly secluded spot between two heavy branches.

"Come here, Harry."

Nonplussed, Harry stepped up to his godfather and he guessed he expected an embrace of some sort for when Sirius made no move to touch him, he was disappointed. He tried to shake the feeling as best he could but it lingered, and a first spark of fear shot through his stomach.

"Listen... I am your godfather." After this initial statement, however, he fell silent.

"Yes...?" Harry agreed, wishing for that frown in Sirius' face to go away. "I know."

"Right." Sirius dragged a hand through his hair. He looked as though he was of a mind to choose his words very carefully and there was something worrying about that. "Listen, Harry... It's..." He drew a deep breath. "When I saw Teddy I realised that _you _are _his _godfather and that's... I mean, I'm your godfather and look at what we're... What _I _am doing to you..."

"What are you doing to me, Sirius?" Harry tried to catch his eye but the older man shied away.

"Too much." Sirius shook his head in apparent frustration. "Things no godfather should ever – under any circumstances – do to his godson."

The damp grass under Harry's feet was shifting. He swallowed. "But... it won't be that way with..." He didn't manage to finish his sentence. Teddy was a baby and the mere thought of him in some distant future–

_No. _

Instead, he stepped up even closer to Sirius. So close he could smell him. "I want you to do those things to me," he said softly. "Irrespective of any formal relationship we happen to have. I mean, we're not related, Sirius."

At that, Sirius finally met his gaze. There was a conflict brewing in his eyes but there was something else as well.

_Passion. _It hit Harry hard enough to make him miss his next breath.

"For that I am very relieved." Sirius' voice had dropped to a rough rush of warm air against Harry's skin.

"Me too," Harry almost whispered.

Sirius kissed him. And it was unlike any kiss that they had ever shared before. This one did not start out careful, but it wasn't hard either. It was all-consuming, Harry's dizzied brain concluded as his godfather's hands cradled his face, when fingers slid into his hair and cupped the back of his head to perfect the angle of the kiss. Sirius' tongue tasted Harry's lower lip at first but soon slid inside his mouth and his chest was pressed to Harry's. One of Sirius' hands found its way to the small of Harry's back and urged him closer still.

Sirius tasted of rain. That was all Harry could think of as his godfather used his godson's ink-blank hair to tug his head back and run his lips down Harry's throat. Tingles spread through Harry's body at the speed of light, making something in his very bones ache for more. Sirius' stubble rasped his skin but a wet tongue tip soon soothed the sting and Harry heard a soft moan fly past his own lips. His own hands searched for a way under Sirius' cloak and upon success, he wound his arms so hard around Sirius' waist that it almost hurt.

Sirius was kissing him again, sucking on his tongue, trying to capture it. Probably Harry's glasses were cutting into his face but he didn't seem to mind. Harry's hands travelled all the way up his godfather's back and down again, continuing past his waist when Sirius did nothing to stop him, and finally cupping his buttocks through his jeans. Sirius' moan filled him to the brim and Harry gave in, rubbing his crotch against Sirius' and finding that all his fears had evaporated.

That was when his godfather ended the kiss.

He was panting, his pupils dilated in the light of day and his mouth was red. "Harry," he breathed heavily, so gloriously heavy, "we can't."

Harry fought for air, fought to arrange his thoughts. "But..."

But Sirius, despite his wakening resolution, flashed a weak smile, "We're in a graveyard. At a funeral."

"Oh."

It took them some time to wind down. The rush of blood through Harry's veins kept suggesting that he take Sirius by the hand and Apparate them home immediately, but that would be wrong. Extremely wrong. "I never meant to..." he began, in an attempt to sort through his muddled instincts. "I know it's a funeral..."

"I know." Sirius was leaning back against a gnarled, leafless branch. "I know you know." Then he chuckled. "Look at us! Now you're the one apologising." He reached out and trailed a hand down Harry's cheek. "I think Remus would approve."

"You do?"

"Well... after the initial shock had subsided. After a couple of years." He gave a lopsided grin. "It's quite simple after all: he wanted me to be happy. You make me happy."

There were – Harry was quite sure – no words that existed that could describe the way _those words_ made him feel. He adjusted his glasses, more to have something with which to occupy his hands rather than out of necessity. "And my dad?"

"Your dad..." Sirius shrugged. "I don't know. Does it matter?"

"I thought it did," said Harry, eyeing Sirius carefully. "To you?"

"Yeah..."Sirius pushed himself off the branch. "But... They're not coming back. He nodded in the direction of the graves and his eyes grew distant. "They're gone, Harry. They're still here, in a way, of course, like Andromeda said, you know... But they're not coming back."

"Not like you did." Harry looked up at him. "You came back."

It seemed like ages before his godfather smiled. "I did." He caught Harry's hand and twined their fingers together. "And I've got you."

Harry smiled back and he never meant to say it but was somehow incapable of staying silent. "You've got me, Sirius. I know you can't say anything back but you know I love you and..."

Those grey eyes he could drown in. Sirius' smile was the foundation of his existence when he pulled Harry close and silenced him with a soft kiss. "If there's anything I know in this world it's that I love you." He lifted a hand and pushed Harry's hair off his forehead. "And... I'm in love with you." He ran the pad of his thumb over the bolt-shaped scar. "How could I not be?" Then he smiled again and planted a new kiss on Harry's lips. "That's a rhetorical question, no need to answer."

Harry only barely understood. He needed Sirius to clarify. Or possibly to repeat. "You...?"

"I was an idiot for somehow thinking that I needed the time to see it," Sirius murmured softly. "I'm done with mourning, Harry. _That _is what I see now. I want to move on, and I want to do it with you."

"But... Just like that...?"

"I told you: it's all quite simple really." Sirius grinned at him. "Do you have any objections?"

"No..." Harry felt Sirius' grasp on his hand, felt the warmth of his godfather's body seeping into his own. "No," he shook his head, "No, I don't."

"Good." Sirius shook back his hair from his face. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised it took me a funeral to realise it. I've always had an extraordinarily dramatic persona," he winked.

Harry could not help his grin. Still... "You're mad. You know that, right?"

"That's what everybody's always told me."

Sirius began pulling him out from under the sheltering branches. Harry followed like in a dream. He was floating, flowing after his godfather as they emerged from the greenery. Sirius still held one of his hands and with the other he reached out to straighten Harry's cloak. His fingers, however, found their way into Harry's hair and he smiled and opened his mouth to say something. But Harry never got to find out what that was because through the air cut a very familiar voice:

"Ah, Mr Potter. Mr Black. If you are quite done professing your eternal love for one another, perhaps we might have a word?" And there, only ten paces away, with her mouth in the customary thin line, stood Professor McGonagall.

The heat leapt into Harry's face so fast that he for a few panicked heartbeats wondered if he might explode. Sirius' hand was gone from his hair but for once Harry was too focused on someone else to register the loss of touch. The Headmistress of Hogwarts was scrutinising them both over the rim of her square spectacles, her fine eyebrows slightly arched over the sharp green eyes.

"I take it that the reason for this..." she made a restrained gesture with her hand towards them, "apparent need of concealment is due to the fact that the true nature of your relationship is some sort of secret?" And not waiting for an answer, she continued crisply, "And I presume that you both would appreciate it if I chose to not address this subject in the company of others?"

Harry, whose stomach was desperately trying to decide if Transfiguring itself into a lump of ice or simply imploding was the best course of action, could not for the life of him comprehend from where Sirius dug out a blazing grin for Professor McGonagall. "Would you be a dear?" He glanced over at Harry. "There's still some that needs to be settled."

Professor McGonagall seemed unimpressed. "_And furthermore_, Mr Black, I presume that one day you will provide me with a reason for which I might tell you that I am pleased to see you alive and well?"

But Sirius' grin only widened. "You were always a darling, Minerva."

She made a noise in between a huff and a snort, but made no further comment on the matter. Instead she turned her attention to Harry. "Potter, I have a proposition for you."

Harry wished his face would cool down and he was not sure he remembered how to speak properly. In the end, he managed an "Oh?" Then cleared his throat. "I mean, you do? Professor," he added for good measure.

This did not appear to soften the lines in her face but she thankfully refrained from commenting on his inability to summon some semblance of dignity. "Yes. For you and for every one in your year who did not complete their seventh and final year at Hogwarts. I am offering you to return to the school and finish your education."

Harry only looked at her dumbly. Return to Hogwarts? To school? To classrooms and homework and meals in the Great Hall and maybe even his old four-poster bed... To Quidditch?

"I... I can't."

Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, Potter, you 'can't'?"

"I..." Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other and swallowed uncertainly. His heart was beating an uncomfortable, irregular rhythm. His gaze darted to Sirius who was watching him with wide eyes. "I can't leave Sirius," Harry said quietly.

It took forever before his godfather frowned. "Harry," he said equally quietly, gently, "I'll be fine. This is a good thing. You always loved Hogwarts."

At those words, Harry felt a strike of pain through his breast. Yes, he had always loved Hogwarts but now... _Now I love you. _

Sirius took a small step closer. "Listen," he continued, in an almost fatherly fashion, "it's the clever thing to do, Harry. Take your N.E.W.T.s. It'll give you some time to think about what's next."

Harry could not believe him. Sirius was actually standing in front of him telling him to go back to Hogwarts?

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. "If I remember correctly I recall you once stating, and quite adamantly too, Potter, a desire to become an Auror...?"

"I don't want that any more." And he knew, the moment the words were spoken – the very second they left him – that it was true.

"Harry..." Sirius laid a hand on his shoulder, but Harry shrugged it off. Briefly, he thought he saw hurt in his godfather's grey eyes and a distant part of him rejoiced in an ugly way.

"I don't want it." He looked at them both in turn, lifting his chin just a little. "I've seen enough of it. Of it all. Enough death. I don't want to have anything more to do with it."

A deep furrow had appeared between Professor McGonagall's eyes but she did not say anything. Sirius, on the other hand, tried once more to reach for him, his fingers brushing Harry's cheek.

"Harry..." he repeated softly. "You don't have to become an Auror, but..."

"But?" Harry echoed him, feeling a swirl of rage rising within. "You want me to go? You've just come back, Sirius! And now you want me to _leave_?"

His godfather opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He sighed, his hand falling back. "I'm not... _Of course not_, Harry. But it's the sensible thing to do..."

_Sensible? _Sirius Black was being _sensible_? Harry stared at him. "So I'd see you again at Christmas?" It came out sounding harsh.

"May I remind you, Potter, that term does not start until the first of September?" Professor McGonagall said calmly.

But that didn't matter. Not if Sirius wasn't ultimately going to ask him to stay.

"Harry..." Sirius tried again, but he pulled away – with the distinct feeling that they were observing him, much like grown-ups would watch a petulant child. He knew he was being very rude when he turned his back on them but he could not stop himself.

"Very well, I will give you some time to consider your answer," Professor McGonagall said finally. There was a moment of nothing but dull aching in Harry's heart before he heard her stride briskly away.

A dense silence lowered itself over the grass. Harry's sudden burst of anger was dissipating, trailing a fast-deepening feeling of shame in its wake. He heard Sirius' sigh somewhere nearby. Harry's stomach was tying itself into a hard knot and he felt ill. When his godfather stepped up behind him and loosely wrapped his arms around his waist he was afraid he would start crying.

"Oh, Harry..." Sirius' murmur ghosted over his cheek. "Of course I don't want you to leave."

"Then why did you say so?"

"I didn't." Sirius pulled him closer and dry lips brushed Harry's temple, just above his glasses. "I wouldn't. But there is some measure of reason to this." He spoke very gently. "Can't you see that?"

"No," said Harry, obstinately.

At that, Sirius actually chuckled. "All right. Let's leave it, for now." Ever so cautiously, he spun Harry around in his arms until they stood face to face. A couple of fingers under Harry's chin forced him to meet his godfather's eye. "I meant what I said earlier, Harry. I'm in love with you. I want to keep you with me."

A part of Harry cherished those words – practically worshipped them – but in this moment it still hurt too much. "Can we go home?"

Sirius lifted his eyes to scan the expanse of the graveyard. "Shouldn't we say goodbye to everyone?"

But Harry only shook his head and stepped up to press into Sirius' broad chest. "Let's just go."

When his godfather's arms came round him again to hold him tight, he closed his eyes.

**TBC**


	23. Truths

My, my, am I feeling inspired of late! Here's the next instalment.

**Chapter 23 – Truths**

It was with his fingertips performing small soothing circles on Harry's neck that Sirius managed to persuade him to walk back to meet up with the Weasleys. The crowd was thinning now and they found the others without trouble, huddled as they were nearby the stone wall encircling the graveyard. Only Hermione and Ron stood a little apart and, intrigued in spite of himself, Harry immediately recognised the way she was speaking: low and eagerly and with a dangerously familiar light building in her eyes. Ron, on closer inspection, looked rather dejected.

"Sirius..." Harry mumbled. They were not touching but walking very close. "I'll be right back."

His godfather glanced down at him, one eyebrow lifted but he did not object. But he did sort of sweep his palm over Harry's shoulder blades in parting, and that was good enough.

"Harry!" Hermione called the moment she spotted him, and turned her excited face to him. "We wondered where you'd gone off to."

"Hey mate," said Ron. He nodded sideways at Hermione. "Talk some sense into her, would you, yeah?"

A raindrop landed on Harry's forehead as he approached. "What happened?"

Ron shook his head. "McGonagall happened, that's what." When Harry did not exhibit major surprise, he eyed Harry thoroughly. "So I reckon she found you too, then? Well, that's good. We can be the united front." He grinned.

"Ronald, really!" Hermione pursed her lips disapprovingly. "I think it is extraordinarily generous of her to offer us a possibility to achieve our N.E.W.T.s."

"Sure," said Ron. "Grand and generous and all that, but we don't _want _to go back to school, do we, Harry?"

"No," said Harry, frankly. _Not since that means leaving Sirius. _

"Harry!" Hermione's wide eyes settled on him. "Not you too?! I'm very disappointed with you both." Frustrated, she brushed away a raindrop that landed on her cheek. "And what were you planning to do instead?"

Ron glanced at Harry and shrugged. "Find a job?"

"Without you N.E.W.T.s?"

"Yeah..." said Harry, wishing he had a more elaborate scheme to present to Hermione.

She huffed and raised her chin at him. "You want to be an Auror, Harry. You can't be an Auror without a degree."

"Oh, c'mon, Hermione!" said Ron in exasperation. "He's _Harry_ _bloody_ _Potter_, no one's going to ask about his degree." Then his eyes, too, suddenly widened and he stared at Harry in something that looked uncomfortably like awe. "You could be _Minister, _Harry!"

Harry grimaced. "I don't think..."

"No, it'll be brilliant!" said Ron hurriedly, ignoring Hermione's groan. "And I could be your Deputy Minister, eh?" He grinned and gave Harry a nudge with his elbow. "And Hermione could write all the laws, or whatever."

"There are already _laws, _Ronald," Hermione ground out behind clenched teeth.

But Ron only favoured her with a shrug. "As I said: whatever."

Before Hermione had regrouped, Harry seized his opportunity. "I don't want to be an Auror any more," he confessed, keeping his voice down for some not entirely obvious reason. "I'd like to do something else."

"Yeah?" Ron looked nonplussed. "Like what?"

"Harry?" Hermione was quickly exchanging her expression of utter annoyance for one of concern. She took a small step closer. "But you always wanted to become an Auror...?"

"I know." He pulled at his cloak. The light rain was turning into more of a drizzle. "I guess I've changed my mind."

"See?" Ron said offhandedly. "He doesn't need his N.E.W.T.s."

Hermione glared at him. "And what about you? Are you going to ride the wave of Harry's fame too?"

Ron flashed a lopsided grin. A drop of rain fell off his nose. "That'd be sweet."

Harry used his cloak to rub the water off his glasses. "Hermione I just think that..."

"Oh, be quiet!" She produced her wand and pointed the tip at his spectacles. _"Impervius. _Now, you were saying?"

Blinking behind the glass, Harry adjusted to clear vision again. "Thanks. Anyway, it'd feel strange to go back, you know... After all that happened..."

Of which there was a good portion he had not told them. The familiar sensation of guilt clawed its way through to his stomach and settled there.

Hermione's brown eyes met with his. "It would be a bit odd, at first, perhaps," she agreed. "But I think... I think it could be a good thing." A self-conscious smile tugged at her lips, then. "Not _just_ sensible."

"Don't give in, mate," Ron muttered under his breath.

Hermione didn't deign him with a glance. Her gaze was soft on Harry. "Listen, I _know _you don't have to go back. Ron's..." She sighed, "Ron's right." (Ron made a triumphant noise beside her which she also ignored.) "You're Harry Potter, you can do anything you want but..." She bit her lip, and turned her eyes on Ron instead and said softly, "I'm going back, with or without you."

There did not seem to be much to say after that. They stood for a while in silence, Harry feeling the water creep down his neck, and shivering. Ron was staring stubbornly anywhere but at Hermione. A wave of relief passed through Harry when Mr Weasley called their names.

"Time to go," he announced as they joined the others.

Fleur was positioned in the midst of the group, elegantly holding her wand aloft and a light Shield Charm in place. Underneath it, all of them were quite dry and warm, by the looks of it.

"You look like a drenched rat," Sirius murmured in Harry's ear as he came to stand beside his godfather. The warm puff of air on his wet skin made a portion of the anxiety in Harry's stomach melt away. There was no way he would return to Hogwarts, not while Sirius was willing to hold him or touch him or...

_...love him..._

He stepped a little closer to Sirius, telling himself that he was simply evading the silvery film of rain that poured down from around the edges of Fleur's Charm.

"Sirius?" Mr Weasley had advanced on them and was speaking in low tones. "What do you say?"

Confused, Harry looked to his godfather, but Sirius was shaking his head almost imperceptibly. "Thanks, Arthur," he said quietly, "but I think we should be heading home. Leave you... to... Well..."

But Mr Weasley nodded. "Yes, I suppose..." He glanced back over his shoulder. His wife was hugging Ginny to her and Bill stood with a hand on her shoulder, speaking so softly Harry could not make out a word. With a troubled expression Mr Weasley turned back to Sirius. "I suppose. But... listen, I know things got a bit..." He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. "You're taking good care of Harry, eh?"

A tendril of fear shot through Harry at the question but Sirius only smiled. "I'm trying my best."

"Good! Good." Mr Weasley nodded again, pushing his shoulders back. His smile, Harry thought, was a bit wobbly but he clapped Sirius on the shoulder. "Very good." Distractedly he smiled at Harry, too. "Yes, best get you home to dry up. There's only so much magic can do. Nothing like roaring a fire, after all."

"Right," said Harry.

Mr Weasley nodded again. Then, with a final clap to Sirius' shoulder, left them to join his wife.

Harry wanted to ask something, to search Sirius' face for some type of clue, but then his godfather smiled down at him. "He's right. Let's get you home."

They said their goodbyes, moving methodically under Fleur's Shield. Ginny did not give Harry another hug but she did sort of smile at him, and Hermione left him with the promise of an impending fire chat about Professor McGonagall's offer. Ron thumped his shoulder and Charlie did much the same. Mrs Weasley sniffled as she hugged him to her, but thankfully did not urge him to come back with them to The Burrow. George was most difficult to speak to, Harry found. He seemed empty, and did not even lift an eyebrow when Fleur leaned across him (her wand hand never wavering) and kissed Harry's cheeks in the most French manner he had ever known.

"Take care, 'Arry," she smiled at him. "Zank you for ev'ryzing."

"Hey," Bill interjected, feigning annoyance. "I also did some things."

Fleur rolled her eyes but kissed her husband's cheek too.

After that, Harry and Sirius were set to leave. Percy had wandered off (most likely bothering Kingsley, Ron had suggested) and the rain was coming down so hard that going looking for him was not a very appealing idea.

"Ready?" Sirius reached for him and Harry took his arm.

"Yeah."

"Home, then," Sirius smiled. And spun around.

They ended up, neatly, outside the front door to Grimmauld Place, Harry with a distinct nauseous feeling rising in his stomach, and Sirius with not so much as a grimace. The weather had apparently travelled with them and in the short while it took Sirius to open the door, his hair was turned a shining inky black, and he shuddered.

"In!" he ordered as the door swung open and the gloom of the hallway appeared before them. "And," he added with a grin, "don't stain the carpet."

Harry did as commanded and hurried inside – and brought half of the English Channel with him. "Sorry," he told his godfather when the door was closed behind them. He bit his lip to keep from smiling.

Sirius snorted. "Yeah, sure." He proceeded to wring his cloak off his shoulders. "You know you can Apparate on your own?" His eyes narrowed at Harry. "Because you can, right?"

"What?" Harry pushed his sodden fringe from his forehead.

"Just saying you didn't have to take my arm," Sirius shrugged. "The unpleasantness caused by Side-Along Apparition is more extensive than that of single Apparition."

Harry blinked at him but before he could think of something to say, Sirius had stepped up close to him. His godfather's grin was toothy. "You are sporting a green hue, Harry."

But Harry's nausea was draining away by the second; for every heartbeat spent with Sirius looking at him like that he grew less and less interested in the mechanics of Apparition. "Oh."

"Mhm." Sirius was dragging the cloak from his shoulders. "Not that I mind you holding on to me." His skin was glistening in the muted glow of the gas lamps. His mouth was drawing nearer. "Just for future..." he leaned in very, very close, "reference."

Harry would have supplied another _'Oh' _if Sirius had not kissed him then. His godfather's lips were wet and tasted of rain and Harry eagerly drank everything down. He barely noted when Sirius' hands tugged at his jumper and shirt until his half-chilled hands could press against Harry's lower back. He gave a yelp as cold skin met his own and heard Sirius chuckle low in his throat.

"Thought I'd warm myself," Sirius murmured into Harry's mouth, and then proceeded to slide his tongue alongside Harry's.

Harry's knees were melting away from his body, threatening his balance. He caught Sirius' lower lip between his teeth and nibbled at it, blushing when his godfather let out a small moan. He let him go, pushing his tongue into Sirius' mouth this time, and bravely cupping his godfather's hip bones. The denim was dry and warming. Harry's palms were itching for more. He slid his hands around Sirius' waist and hesitantly fingered the waistband.

Sirius made a new rumbling noise and pulled back, but only long enough to catch Harry's eye. "You're learning," he purred. "I like it." He leaned back in and dragged his tongue tip over Harry's bottom lip.

Then, through the thickening air, a voice dripping with venom creaked, "Master Harry Potter. And... the dog."

Kreacher, complete with a ladle, was standing by the stairs leading down into the basement. His bulbous eyes were shot with red and his mouth was twisted in contempt. "Have returned," he finished. The words stung like a curse.

Harry's first instinct was to let go. To spring away from Sirius. But although his godfather tensed, he maintained his hold on Harry. And strengthened it. His voice was strained, though. "Kreacher."

"Kreacher sees things," the house-elf hissed. "The _filth_! Oh, yes, Kreacher knows. The blood traitor!" Spittle shot from his mouth. "The _Master_ and _the dog_."

Harry felt the floor give way under his feet. Kreacher knew. Kreacher had seen. Panic wrapped around his heart and squeezed. Hard. He tried to worm his way out of Sirius' embrace but the other man held on. "No, Harry," Sirius muttered through gritted teeth. "He already knows."

"Kreacher hears things, oooh yes. Noises..." The house-elf shuddered from top to toe, looking as if he was about to throw up. "Disgusting noises, filthy noises! Stains on my Mistress' house!"

"We are not a stain, Kreacher," Sirius said quietly.

"The dog thinks he is better," muttered Kreacher, contempt rushing from his gnarled form in suffocating waves. "Always thought he was better... always a disappointment... _SHE WEPT!_"

Then he screamed.

Further down the hall, the curtains covering the painting of Mrs Black were thrown away by some unseen force and her raw, piercing voice cut through the house, like a saw performing a mad jig on iron. _"Mudbloods, TRAITORS! Yoooou... the ABOMINATION!"_

Harry thought his ears would burst with the sound. That was when Sirius finally released him and drew his wand. _"Kreacher, shut up!" _

The house-elf did. But his twisted grin was pure cruelty. To the deafening sound of his mother's howling, Sirius stomped down the hallway to point his wand at her portrait. There was a loud _crack _and a burst of blistering red sparks as the curtains slammed shut.

The house fell silent.

Harry barely dared to breathe when Sirius slowly turned towards the stairs, deep, dark shadows playing in his pale cheeks. His jawline was sharp and there was an edge to his person that made Harry want to recoil. His voice was low and would almost have been calm if it had not been for the tide of fury that boiled behind it, "Perhaps a late lunch, Kreacher."

The house-elf bowed slowly. Inch by inch his back bent, jarringly, until he had shown enough respect. Then, face towards the floor, he smirked. But never said a word.

o.O.o

Harry had not thought he'd be able to eat but when faced with the mashed potatoes and stew, his stomach actually growled appreciatively.

Sirius was pouring steaming peas from a pot onto his plate mechanically. Harry had not touched him since Kreacher started screaming. Where the house-elf was now, neither of them knew.

"Here." Sirius handed him the peas.

"Thanks."

They ate in silence, opposite one another at the table. Harry wanted to ask him what they were going to do now, or perhaps more importantly what _Kreacher _was going to do, but the words stuck in his throat.

Sirius, however, read his mind. He laid down his fork and surveyed Harry. "Nothing's going to happen. He's known for a while and he's done nothing about it yet."

"But what if he changed his mind now? Today. When he saw... us."

Sirius' grey eyes bore into him. "Then, it'll get out." His words were measured. "Does that scare you?"

Something near Harry's heart squirmed uncomfortably. He swallowed. "It's just that I haven't told anyone..."

"Except for Ginny."

Heat rushed into Harry's face. "Yeah."

Sirius leaned forwards a little, elbows on the table. "Tell me about Ginny, Harry."

It was difficult to find any words. "There isn't anything..."

"Ah, but you see, I've seen things too," Sirius said quietly, cutting across him. "I remember your fifth year at Hogwarts." Briefly, a rush of pain was on him but he shook it off. "You celebrated Christmas here, the lot of you. And Ginny's eyes would follow you wherever you went."

The heat refused to drain from his face. The squirming thing was sliding through his chest and downwards.

"Then she caught us kissing the other day, if you recall," Sirius continued, mercilessly. "And she is the only one you've spoken to about that. Not Ron, not Hermione. Only Ginny. Why is that, Harry?"

He didn't want to be here. He wanted to turn away from Sirius but he was held immobile by that stare. Harry's legs were numb. "I... I went out with her..." he whispered, finally.

Sirius nodded. "Thought so."

"But I wasn't unfaithful or anything!" The need to explain himself overcame his fear. "I broke up with her after Dumbledore died. When I decided I had to leave to find the Horcruxes. I told her we couldn't be together. It wasn't safe."

"But you had feelings for her." Sirius' face was blank. He barely even looked interested. But his gaze was heavy on Harry.

"Of course I did!" He bit his tongue. "I mean..." But, _no_, it was not fair to Ginny to deny what he had felt for her. "I did," he repeated firmly. "But then you were Returned and things changed." His cheeks still stung, though.

"That's what you told her?"

"Yes."

There was silence again before Sirius dropped his head and sighed. "I'm sorry. I've no right to be jealous."

Wide-eyed Harry stared at him in complete incredulity. "You're jealous?"

Sirius ran a hand through his shaggy hair and made a face. "She's pretty, Harry. And you have history and... _shit_, I'm old."

"You're not old."

Sirius' lips twisted. "So you keep telling me."

"It's true."

"No, it's not."

Harry pushed back his chair and stood, ignoring the question in his godfather's eyes. He rounded the table and smiled. "Make room."

"What?"

"Push your chair back."

Sirius' eyebrows lifted but he did as ordered. When he was at an appropriate distance from the table, Harry climbed into his lap, straddling him, so that they came face to face. He smiled down at his godfather's look of surprise. "Yes, I had feelings for Ginny. No, I don't any longer. I love _you_." He dropped a kiss to Sirius' brow. "And you're not old." Then he hugged him close.

It was only half a heartbeat before Sirius wrapped his arms around him.

o.O.o

The rain was moving on and the first beams of moonlight were working their way through Harry's yellow curtains in the drawing room. He was comfortably arranged in the sofa, with Sirius' arm around him and the firelight flickering over the grimy walls. The only sound was the wood crackling and the soft rustle as Sirius turned a page in one of the dodgy books they had found in Regulus' room. For himself, Harry was content to simply absorb the rise and fall of Sirius' chest against his heart.

They had spent the better part of the evening like this. Sirius had dragged forth the book which had moaned pitifully upon opening but had otherwise not protested, and Harry had leafed through a dusty copy of _Which Broomstick_, before deciding that is was hopelessly outdated. That was when he had removed his glasses and snuggled into Sirius, and smiled when a hand lazily started toying with his hair.

He was drifting off when a _pop_ startled him and caused Sirius' hand to cease it caressing.

"Just the paper, Harry," Sirius said a moment later. "Kreacher must have gone out to fetch it."

There was some jostling before the book was deposited on the coffee table and the paper (or at least that was what Harry assumed it was) hovered in front of his face as Sirius held it up for scrutiny.

"Anything interesting?" Harry asked, fighting a yawn.

"Hmm... Mostly about the funeral. Says here that..." His voice ebbed out and there was a small intake of breath. "Um, Harry...?"

"Yeah?" He blinked his eyes open and frowned at the blur.

"Uh... there is a small mention here..."

"What?" Harry struggled to sit. He reached out for his glasses, relieved when he caught them. Jamming them onto his nose he turned to his godfather.

Sirius was wearing a peculiar expression. "There," he pointed at a small article, almost at the bottom of the front page. There was no photograph to illustrate it. Harry squinted at the small text, and felt his mouth fall open.

"Another Malfoy to Azkaban..." he repeated the headline dumbly. Then snatched the paper from Sirius and bent over it.

_ANOTHER MALFOY TO AZKABAN_

_Today Narcissa Malfoy, wife of Lucius Malfoy, the ruthless Death Eater known for his devotion to You-Know-Who, was sentenced to four years in Azkaban, following her trial at the Ministry of Magic. Narcissa Malfoy, 43, was convicted for her crimes against the wizarding population of Britain by a distinguished court of most exemplary judges headed by Chief Warlock Algernon Pod..._

Harry slammed the paper down on the table. "What the hell?!"

Sirius' hand landed on his arm. "Harry..."

"I was supposed to be there!" He shook off Sirius' hand and stumbled to his feet, pointing to the _Evening Prophet_ that seemed to glare right back. "I told them I wanted to be there!"

"I know," Sirius said quietly, but it did not help.

Harry spun around helplessly, not knowing where to direct his anger. "I met that, that bloody... _assistant_! That man Hoye! I _told _him I wanted to be there! I told Kingsley!" He didn't care if it sounded childish. The pathetic phrase kept echoing through him: he had told them he wanted to be there.

"Most likely they wanted to get it out of the way," Sirius said, still in that same calm voice.

"Sure they did," Harry snorted. "With everyone at the funeral, they did not have to bother with us!"

Sirius did not seem to have an answer to that. Instead, he pushed himself up and gave the _Prophet_ a nudge. "Bet you it was Kreacher's idea of ruining a nice evening, sending the paper up here."

But Harry had no energy to spare Kreacher's schemes. All he knew was that they had been wrong. Him and Ron and Hermione – all of them. Because it obviously did not matter that he was Harry fucking Potter and the Great Saviour of the wizarding world. No, in the end the Ministry did whatever the hell it wanted to do, and he had no say in it.

Feeling all the anger leave him in dizzying rush, he slumped down beside Sirius on the sofa.

_You've still got a chance with Draco_, he told himself stubbornly. _There's still Draco._

Sirius, thankfully, said nothing. But his hand returned to Harry's hair.

**TBC**

Don't be shy, tell me what you think! ;)


	24. New Developments

Thank you, all of you, for your encouragement and all the lovely things you have to say about my story! Thank you, thank you , thank you.

Now, this is a long one...

**Chapter 24 – New Developments**

Harry had spent a restless night tossing and turning, and with Draco's pale face flitting in and out of his dreams. When he had finally rolled out of bed in some too early morning hour, weary of himself and irritable, he fancied his godfather was actually quite happy to be left alone under the covers. Sirius only raised his head and blinked as he got up, then dropped it back down and went back to sleep.

Leaving him to it, Harry had dragged on his jeans and a t-shirt and trudged down the cranky stairs to the basement, determined to figure out a way to persuade the Wizengamot that he was in the right and that Draco Malfoy should be spared his parents' fate.

When Sirius appeared in the kitchen a couple of hours later he found Harry bent over some parchment and a pot of cold tea.

"How's the plan taking shape?" He asked, pausing by Harry's side to drop a kiss to the top of his head before he began rummaging around in the kitchen pantry for something to eat. (Kreacher had not yet made an appearance and Harry was not about to organise a search party.) "Do you know that the sun is shining?" he called.

"Hmm..." said Harry, scratching with his quill at a blot of ink.

"Fancy a walk?"

"Can't." He had written down everything he could come up with that would serve to prove Draco's innocence. He'd never thought it would make such a long list.

When only a grunt came from the pantry, Harry finally looked up. "Sorry."

Sirius stuck his head out. "It's all right. You have a Grand Rescue to arrange."

Harry made a face. "It's not a grand rescue."

Sirius grinned. "Whatever you say." Then he dove back inside.

"It's just a defence," Harry called after him.

When Sirius did not respond, Harry put down his quill. "It is," he insisted. "It's not like am going to whisk him away on a broomstick."

Sirius chuckled as he emerged, carrying some tomatoes and a basket of eggs. "No, you're more the Hippogriff type, aren't you?"

"Well, it worked," muttered Harry.

"That," Sirius dropped his findings on the counter and came to leave another kiss in Harry's hair, "is undeniably true." He straightened. "You go on and plan your rescue, Harry. I'll be in park. The most well-behaved dog in London. Promise"

It was with a twinge of regret that Harry watched Padfoot – tail whipping so hard the air sung around it – shoot down the stairs to Grimmauld Place an hour later. He watched until the great black dog was out of sight and then, with a sigh, he turned his back to the sunlight tumbling down into the square and closed the front door behind him.

He had meant to return to the kitchen but came to an abrupt stop when, in the dull glow of the gas lamps, he spotted something silvery sitting on the floor, only a few feet away. The surprise almost had him choking on his next breath but the form remained quite still. It was a cat, Harry saw, its bright white, translucent head tipped a little to the side, and its shining eyes narrowed up at him.

_It's only a cat_, Harry repeated to himself, willing his frantic heartbeat to slow down.

"Good morning, Potter," the cat said, and Minerva McGonagall's familiar voice floated out around him, somewhat crisp. "If you are not otherwise engaged, it would be most beneficial to yourself and Mr Black to invite me to tea this afternoon."

Harry blinked at the cat. "Um, yeah, of course." He was not sure his consent was needed. He could not really imagine the Headmistress of Hogwarts expecting anything else than his complete compliance. Besides, sending a Patronus was more a way of facilitating one-way communication than introducing a debate.

The cat's whiskers twitched. Then it leapt smoothly into the gloomy air and was gone.

o.O.o

Professor McGonagall arrived at precisely four o'clock. She was wearing a dark set of robes with tartan lining, and her eyes were sharp behind her square spectacles.

Harry had dressed in his best jeans and one of Dudley's oldest shirts, small enough to fit Harry at least moderately well these days. He was relieved, now, that Kreacher had washed his clothes after the Horcrux hunt but he could not help but nervously shove the toe of his trainers into the hallway carpet.

Sirius, too, had made an effort. His hair was washed and dried and pulled back from his face. He was wearing robes over his old denims and least washed-out t-shirt. Upon his return from the park he had been spattered with mud and there had been twigs caught in his fur but now, as he pulled open the front door, no one could have guessed.

"Mr Black. Mr Potter. Good afternoon." Minerva McGonagall had been an Order member and showed no sign of being humbled by the dour look of the old Black residence. Then again, Harry contemplated, nothing ever really seemed to humble her. She did not wait for anyone else to close the door but did it herself. "How very kind of you to invite me."

Harry could not be sure but he thought he almost caught a spark of humour in her eyes. It made his breathing a little easier.

"Our pleasure." Sirius tried a grin and it widened when she only lifted an eyebrow. "Lovely to see you again, Minerva. Do come in."

She did, but not without a snort.

They settled in the drawing room. Harry and Sirius in the sofa and Professor McGonagall in one of the armchairs. Harry saw her gaze scan the room and settle briefly on the yellow curtains. A small crease touched her forehead and her lips twitched. "Oh, how... inspired."

Sirius half turned to look for himself and flashed another grin. "Harry's work." He caught Harry's hand and gave it a squeeze. "I very much approve."

Heat mercilessly wandered over Harry's face as Professor McGonagall's attention transferred to him. "Very festive, Potter," she remarked. Her gaze flickered down to their hands.

It did not matter that there seemed to be a new gleam in her eyes, Harry only managed a grimace and a mumble.

"Eloquent as ever, I hear, Potter," she said, but this time her voice lacked its usual sharpness.

Sirius did not seem bothered in the least and Harry was grateful when it was he who took it upon himself to serve the tea. Kreacher was still nowhere to be seen so they had prepared everything themselves in his place. Thankfully, Professor McGonagall made no remark as she accepted her cup and carefully singled out a ginger biscuit which Harry dearly hoped was still edible.

When they were settled again, Sirius offered a new smile. "So, Minerva, what can we do for you?"

Professor McGonagall took a small, cautious bite of her biscuit and Harry cringed inwardly when she seemed to chew with some difficulty. She took a sip of tea, swallowed and cleared her throat. "I think, Mr Black, that you will find that it is rather the other way around. It is you and Potter here that can do something for me. That is, should you find the terms of the agreement reasonable." She laid down the biscuit.

Harry could not help his curiosity. "What kind of agreement, Professor?"

"Well," she began, her voice suddenly turning somewhat businesslike, "I realise that the offer I made you yesterday, Potter, might have been slightly badly timed. Considering that your... more personal state of affairs had just been settled." She made a curt nod at Sirius.

"Um, yeah," said Harry, even more embarrassed now. "I'm sorry if I was..."

"Oh, nonsense, Potter." She waved his concern away. "I'm not heartless." She almost smiled, then collected herself. "It has, however, caused me to reconsider and so I have a new proposition for you." After a little pause, she went on. "Mr Black, do not hesitate to correct me if I am wrong but I am going to assume that you have not yet devised a plan for your future?"

Sirius frowned. "My future?"

"As in what you are going to do with your life now that you are... alive again?"

Harry could feel his godfather shift in his seat. "No, that... I haven't really thought about that," he admitted.

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Very good." She looked as if she was about to give the half-eaten biscuit a second chance but then thought the better of it. "I will admit, Mr Black, that during your time at Hogwarts you were the cause of several rather severe headaches among the staff members but it cannot be contested that you were also a very gifted student." Her eyes narrowed. "I seem to recall that you were a particularly skilled dueller, is that correct?"

Sirius' frown had deepened. "I guess..." he said hesitantly. "I mean, I was average, maybe good...?"

Again, her lips nearly gave in to a smile. "This – if you will take my advice – is not the time to be modest, Mr Black."

Harry looked from her to his godfather. He felt quite lost.

"OK..." Sirius said, a fair bit of suspicion leaking into his voice, "I admit I was good." When Professor McGonagall's eyebrows rose in question, he amended, "All right, I was exceptionally talented."

Apparently it did not matter that Sirius himself sounded less than confident because Professor McGonagall looked pleased at this and inclined her head at him. "And would you say that you have retained your abilities despite your... misfortunes?"

"Well, I..." Sirius was scanning her face intently, searching for some clue. "Yes. Yes, I have."

That was when she finally smiled. "In that case, Mr Black, I am offering you a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If you accept it will fall to you to teach our students the fine art of magical duelling."

A dense silence greeted her words. Harry was very slowly coming to understand what she was saying. It sounded almost too good to be true. Sirius would be... and Harry could go back... and...

"Sirius, that's brilliant! We'd both be at Hogwarts!"

But his godfather's face could just as well have been crafted from stone and the bubble of joy that was about to explode near Harry's heart collapsed in on itself. Sirius did not even look at Harry.

"Minerva," he said, his voice low and hard, "this is a position that you would never have invented if it had not been for Harry. Thank you, but I can't accept."

Harry barely understood what he heard but somehow it managed to hurt anyway.

But Professor McGonagall set down her teacup and looked at his godfather sternly. "Do not be foolish, Sirius. I do not deny that the idea had not crossed my mind before but you can rest assured that this is no work of charity. It is true that I would very much like to see Mr Potter return to Hogwarts but it is also true that these past years have shown that if one cannot defend oneself when evil strikes, there is small chance of survival." Her words came out sharp and crisp. "There is more to the defence against the Dark Arts than curses and jinxes. Mr Potter was on to something when he founded Dumbledore's Army and taught his fellow students how to properly wield a wand should a foe come upon them. Did your sessions not prove worthwhile, in the end, Potter?" she shot at him.

"Yes," Harry answered, automatically.

"There you are, Mr Black. We all hope, of course, that a no new Dark Lord shall ever rise, _but_ – and I imploreyou to consider this – should we ever find ourselves once more battling evil it might be good if we knew exactly _how_ to battle."

Sirius opened his mouth. Then closed it. Minerva McGonagall continued unhindered:

"That is why I am offering you this opportunity, Mr Black. Not because I think you need something with which to occupy yourself or because I am determined to persuade Mr Potter to return to Hogwarts. Not primarily at least," she added, her mask of iron determination slipping just a little.

Harry almost did not dare to breathe while Sirius sat pondering this. Finally, his godfather stirred. "The Ministry still considers me dead, Minerva," he said quietly.

She snorted. "And since when has death ever prevented anyone from teaching at Hogwarts?"

Sirius did not seem to have an answer to that. "People still think I'm a mass murderer," he said instead. "All these parents won't..."

"You will leave the parents to me, Sirius."

There was silence again. Harry pushed at his anxiety, fearing to hope...

"So..." Sirius rubbed the heel of his hand into his stubble. "I'd be a _professor_? That's... that is completely mental." And after what had seemed a year he finally looked at Harry. "And you'd be there too...?"

Harry nodded, a tiny spark of hope leaping up from his stomach into his chest. "We'd be together, Sirius."

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. "Before you get too carried away, may I take a moment to remind you of the importance of proper conduct?" She was frowning. "Mr Potter would be your _student, _Mr Black, and I hope you understand that any improper behaviour between teacher and student is most fervently discouraged."

Sirius pushed his shoulders back and there was a cold glint in his eyes. "I'm am not going to live a lie, Minerva. Harry and I–"

She very audibly sighed. "I am not asking you to do any such thing. What I _am_ saying is that there will be no special treatment of Mr Potter. You will educate him and grade him just as you would _any other student_, is that clear? What you choose to do after hours is your business." Her eyes narrowed. "Of course, I will be pleased if you refrain from becoming the source of too much gossip. In addition to this, Mr Potter will be expected to return to his dormitory in the Gryffindor Tower whereas you will have your own set of rooms in another part of the castle, Mr Black."

Harry glanced at his godfather. "That's all right, though, isn't it?"

Sirius had visibly relaxed. "I guess..." he said slowly. Then a smirk found its way across his lips. "Regarding 'after hours', Minerva..."

She pursed her lips. "Not too much gossip, Mr Black. That is what I'm asking."

It was probably a good thing that Sirius chose not to press the issue. Instead he nodded, looking more at ease with every one of Harry's heartbeats. And then he smiled. "I'd say it's a fair deal, Harry. What do you think?"

Looking into his godfather's eyes Harry felt his heart swell until it threatened to burst his chest. "Yeah," he grinned. He wished they were alone because right now there was only one thing he wanted and that was to kiss Sirius until they were both breathless. It was with somedifficulty that he turned away.

"Then it is settled," said Professor McGonagall. "I will see you both on the first of September." She gathered her robes about her and stood. Her eyes landed on the remnants of her biscuit. "In the meantime I suggest that you let your house-elf take care of the baking, Mr Potter."

But Harry was too happy to feel reproached. He grinned at her. "Yes, Professor."

She shook her head but did not look particularly angry. "I'll see myself out."

She had disappeared into gloom that lay beyond the drawing room when Harry decided that he needed to know. With a quick reassuring glance at Sirius, he sprinted after her.

He caught her as she was making her way down the stairs, past the ugly shrunken house-elf heads. "Um, Professor?"

"Yes, Potter?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yes?"

He bit his lip as they descended the last few steps. "It's just this thing with me and Sirius..." he began, "you don't think it's... weird, or anything...?"

She stopped and to his surprise her face suddenly softened. "Mr Potter, this concept is not so foreign to me as you might think." She paused and sighed, and behind her spectacles her eyes turned distant. "You see, I had the extraordinary fortune of knowing a great man... Not a perfect man, mind you, but a great man. His preferences were very much alike to those of your Sirius. And, I suppose, to your own."

Some heat rose in Harry's cheeks but he said nothing. So she continued, almost gently:

"He trusted me enough to confide in me many things over the years. But for all the things he told me it was his firmest conviction – which he most ardently professed – that also became my own: that we might see Lords of Darkness rise among us from time to time, but, Harry, it is love that is the greatest lord of all."

And with that she left him, staring after her as she pulled open the front door and closed it again behind her. And Harry Potter wondered if he was suddenly understanding a lot more about a great many things.

o.O.o

The fire reached him where he sat snugly between Sirius' long legs on the floor of his godfather's bedroom. He tried to imagine them doing the same at Hogwarts and a bubbly feeling tickled his heart. The image came easily to him and he smiled. Harry would be back in the dorm, as Professor McGonagall had emphasised, but Sirius would have his own office and his own bedchamber. And if Harry could sneak inside once or twice, they would be all alone.

"What are you smiling at?" Sirius asked. His hand came up to tilt Harry's head a little sideways so he could see him better.

Harry tried a casual shrug against his godfather's chest but was not very successful. "I'm just glad we'll be there together," he said instead, which was the absolute truth.

Sirius's eyes danced over his face and settled on his lips. Harry could _feel_ it. "You'll be my pupil, Mr Potter. I will grade you." His eyes gleamed.

Under that gaze, Harry blushed. "I'd better do well then," he said, but it came out sounding quite faint.

"Oh, yes," Sirius agreed, softly. "But I think you will."

"You will have to be fair, Sirius," Harry told him, momentarily sobering. "Remember what Professor McGonagall said: no special treatment." He didn't want to think about what would happen if the Headmistress was displeased with Sirius.

"In the classroom I'll be the epitome of fairness," Sirius swore loftily. But his grin was deepening until it turned slightly wolfish. "Don't you worry."

Harry opened his mouth to make him see but Sirius shook his head, stopping him. "Don't say it. Don't worry. We'll be fine." He dipped his head a little until his lips brushed Harry's. "Now, kiss me."

If Harry had not already been sitting down, he would have sunk to the floor when Sirius joined their mouths together. They kissed slowly, lips sliding softly together, Sirius opening up just enough for Harry to be given a hint of what lay beyond. Sirius' quiet breathing was warm puffs of air on Harry's skin and he angled his head a little more. The very tip of his godfather's tongue dipped into his mouth, almost furtively, and Harry shivered. Then a hand was cupping the back of his head gently. It did not guide him, or urge him on or anything like that – it simply held him affectionately in place. Harry pressed his own tongue tip into Sirius' bottom lip and felt the fullness, the warmth, rush over him. Then he dimly decided it was his turn and so he licked a first stroke across the soft skin. He thought he could hear Sirius moan.

Sirius' mouth was warm, warmer than anything. Harry deepened the kiss by mere instinct, arching upwards when his godfather caught Harry's tongue between his lips and sucked it into his mouth. The hand on the back of his head knotted lightly in his hair. He did not know he was still breathing until Sirius relaxed completely again and let him go, little by little, until the kiss was over at last.

His godfather's eyes were dilated, his lips red and gleaming and parted. With his free hand, he dragged his knuckles down Harry's burning cheek. His voice was beyond even a rasp. "I want you, Harry."

And Harry nodded.

Dazed, he watched Sirius cast the spells that would ensure their privacy. A nervous twitching had begun deep in his stomach and as he watched his godfather's wand slice smoothly through the air, it grew stronger and stronger until he thought it might be for the best to call the whole thing off. But then Sirius turned his attention on him and the words never came. Instead, he inwardly melted when Sirius placed a new kiss on his lips.

"Come. I think it's time for bed."

Later Harry never could remember exactly how he got to his feet, only that as soon as he was on them, and Sirius had placed their wands atop the bedside cabinet, he was back in his godfather's arms. Harry breathed Sirius in, trailing his hands down his back and telling himself he had done this (and more) before. That he was going to be fine.

Sirius bent his head and kissed his throat. Harry missed his next breath.

The warm mouth left a pattern of kisses on his skin. The bit of stubble Sirius was sporting grazed tantalisingly over him and Harry had no idea how to react. Part of him wanted to wrench away so that he might collect himself, but the other part of him was screaming at the rest of him to _stay put_. He had never thought his skin could prickle in any pleasant way but then Sirius added just a scrape of teeth to his kisses and Harry could not help his moan.

He could feel his godfather smile. "That's it, Harry," he murmured. Then proceeded to place a burning open-mouthed kiss on the place he had abused. "My beautiful Harry."

Warmth rushed over Harry. He wanted to bury his face in Sirius' shirt, dive so deep into his arms that he almost disappeared, but he could not move. Instead, he stood accepting of every little touch and caress Sirius would offer him as his godfather worked his way back to his mouth. They reunion kiss almost made him whimper.

Then he felt hands on his waist, working his t-shirt upwards. All he could do was to lift his arms and let Sirius slide it off him. Which would have been a success had he not been wearing his spectacles.

Sirius chuckled as he worked the fabric free off Harry's head. "So much for romance," he concluded as he dropped the t-shirt to the floor.

Harry, for his part, was rather grateful for the respite. He adjusted his glasses and managed to take a deep breath. "Sirius..."

His godfather stroked back his hair. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," Harry was quick to say. He hesitated. He could still feel the imprint of Sirius' mouth on his throat. "Only... I don't know what to do."

"Ah." The grey eyes were a bit clearer now than they had been on the floor before the fire. "Keep doing what you're doing." Sirius smiled.

"But..." His tongue was lead. "That can't... well, that can't be enough," he mumbled, cheeks stinging.

But Sirius' smile only deepened. "For your first time with a bloke it is."

Then it happened. The words tumbled out of him before he could check himself and it was possibly the stupidest thing he had ever done. "My first time with anyone," Harry heard himself confess, and the mortification was worse than anything.

There was silence.

He saw the realisation dawn on Sirius. He saw the beginnings of a frown he immediately hated settle in his godfather's face.

Sirius had tensed. Harry could see his shock in the line of his shoulders, in the tightening of his jaw. He wanted to take everything back, to swear he'd been with Ginny and Cho both, if that would make Sirius touch him again. But he couldn't. He had told the truth and now he would have to live with it.

Sirius' face had grown very, very grave and his voice had lost a lot of its softness when he finally spoke. "Your first... ever?"

Harry nodded, mute.

"Ever." It had ceased to be a question so Harry did not answer.

Sirius briefly closed his eyes. Then he nodded, too. "Well," he said, dragging a hand across his face. "We had better make it good then."

All air went out of Harry. Like a rush of lukewarm water draining from him in an instant. Sirius lifted a hand and traced his lips with the pad of his thumb, favouring the lower one and rubbing it a bit harder than the other. It was strangely arousing and Harry swallowed.

Then Sirius replaced his thumb with his mouth. His hands planted themselves on Harry's back and brought him close. "You sure you want to do this, Harry?" he murmured, his words hot on Harry's lips. "For me to be your first?"

It was too easy. Yes, he was scared but he wanted Sirius with every fibre of his being, from the soles of his feet to the hair on his head, so he licked at Sirius' lips and made his godfather smile.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Sirius responded in kind. He licked his way into Harry's mouth as though he were an ice cream. This kiss was deeper than the others, causing Harry to push himself upwards, to wish he was taller. He would gladly stand on tiptoe and give up breathing all together if it persuaded Sirius. He felt hands on his hips and they guided him closer until he stood flush against his godfather.

"I think, however," Sirius rasped when this kiss, too, was done, "that we'll hold off with the fucking for now." He sounded out of breath.

Confused, Harry was about to protest when the older man smiled. "We'll save the _fucking _for another day," he clarified, light dancing in his eyes. "Tonight, I want to make love to you."

Harry had not known there was a difference. Well, maybe if he thought about it he might come up with a few ideas but right now he found himself dealing with a thrill that coursed through him and nearly made his knees buckle.

"I was never very good with the romance," Sirius continued uninterrupted. "And it's been a while. But we'll see what I can accomplish, yeah?"

Harry nodded numbly. "I'd like that," he managed.

Sirius laughed. "As good a premise as any, I guess. Now don't change your mind while I do this..." In a smooth move, he had pulled off his t-shirt. It joined Harry's on the floor. "And this..."

Next came his jeans. He flicked the top button open and slid the denim past his hips, past his groin, and down his thighs. Harry's mouth was dry by the time Sirius stepped out of them and kicked them aside. And then... his underwear. Harry wanted to look but he simply couldn't. He fixed his stare on Sirius' right shoulder instead. Because somewhere halfway down Sirius' body was that groin and...

"Harry?" His godfather dropped a hand to his cheek. "OK?"

He swallowed. "Yes, just nervous," he admitted in a small voice.

"Oh, that's all right. We all are, the first time. Now, are you cold?. Do you want candles?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Good. Then I suggest you get on that bed."

"But..." Harry glanced down. He still wore his jeans and socks.

Sirius stroked his cheek, and his voice softened. "All in good time. Trust me, Harry."

And he did. No matter what was happening Harry trusted Sirius so he climbed into bed and, according to Sirius' instructions, stuffed a pillow under his head and lay down on his back.

His godfather did not join him. Not exactly. In the dancing firelight, Sirius walked down to the foot of the bed and lowered himself onto the very edge. There – to Harry's utmost surprise – he proceeded to remove Harry's socks. These, too, joined the rest of their clothing on the floor.

"Sirius..."

"Hush." Sirius raised his eyes to Harry's. "Unless you really want me to stop. Then you must say so. Otherwise, trust me."

Harry closed his mouth.

Entranced, he watched as Sirius crawled onto the bed and up his legs, running his palms up and down Harry's legs as he went. Slowly, slowly. A warm, fuzzy feeling spread through Harry at the sure touch. Sirius' broad hands explored his knees and his thighs, mapped his body through the denim. Harry breathed deeply now, revelling in the way Sirius' presence somewhere above him made him feel safe...

That was, until Sirius gently tugged at the top button of his fly. He opened them one by one, fingers light on the fabric but nevertheless making Harry squirm inwardly. The cosiness was exchanged for a mounting feeling of exposure and he resisted the urge to close his eyes as Sirius urged him to lift his hips so that he could slide the jeans off him. Knotting his hands in the duvet, Harry felt his safety barriers removed, but he stayed silent.

With his jeans gone, all that remained was his briefs. Harry swallowed as Sirius placed his hands on Harry's thighs and gave a small nudge.

"Part for me?" It was close to a whisper.

He did. To a new onset of trepidation, he watched his godfather stretch out on his belly between his legs. When Sirius slid his hands under his legs, Harry flinched.

"We won't do all of it tonight," said Sirius, quietly. He licked his lips and Harry's stomach turned over in a not entirely pleasant way. "But I want to taste you. Just a little."

It was painful, the way fear twisted in his breast. Harry tried to draw a steadying breath but when Sirius' arms curled around his thighs and spread him even wider, he gasped instead. Then Sirius was kissing him. Kissing the insides of his thighs, his stubble tickling Harry's skin and his lips warm and wet. Kissing his way upwards... Kissing...

Harry made some kind of noise and his cock twitched. Sirius' cheek brushed it now, through his briefs. It almost made Harry want to cry. He dug his fingers into the duvet and gasped anew when Sirius dropped open-mouthed kisses to his wakening length.

It didn't matter that there was a layer of cotton between them. This time Harry truly squirmed as his godfather pressed down just a tad harder with his mouth. Harry, ashamed and desperate, felt himself swelling in response. This was already more than he had ever imagined and he had no idea how to deal with it. "I..." he breathed, "it's..."

Sirius' mouth disappeared from his cock. "Shall I stop?"

But Harry shook his head against the pillow. "No. Don't... Don't stop. Please."

"I won't," Sirius assured him, still in that low voice. "Lift your hips."

And Harry did, and he swallowed hard as Sirius' arms slid out from underneath his legs so that his underwear could be removed as well. Then his godfather was back beside him, his head once more on a level with Harry's groin, but this time he curled around Harry's side... and _oh! _Harry could feel his hard length push against his leg. No cotton left anywhere.

He lifted his swimming head and found Sirius' looking up at him. His shaggy black hair was pulled behind one ear and his eyes were gleaming in the firelight. Without a word, Sirius bent his head and licked a long wet stripe up Harry's cock.

This was surely too much. When Sirius cupped his balls and stroked across them with his thumb, Harry knew he was going insane. Then there were fingers on the base of his twitching length and all of a sudden Sirius' impossibly warm mouth was all around it and Harry cried out, his throat raw. But Sirius did not waver. He sank his head down – his mouth – and his lips moved over Harry's straining arousal like lava. He took as much of Harry in his mouth as he could manage and then swallowed. Harry thought he tasted blood.

He was trembling by the time Sirius let him slide from his mouth. "So good, Harry," he mumbled, his breath ghosting over Harry's overheated skin. "You taste so good." He kissed him again at the tip, laving at the slit. "Want you."

Harry nodded blindly. He was not sure what he wanted but this was not enough. Something was tearing at him, something was insisting that he should spread his legs again, make his godfather lie between them again and do whatever he could to make Harry's agony expand until it exploded. He tried to say something but it came out in a moan.

He had not realised Sirius was moving until the bed dipped beside him and a mouth was on his. He kissed back. He knew he tasted himself, too, on Sirius' eager tongue that pushed against his but that seemed like nothing compared to everything else. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand was in his godfather's hair, messing it up, needing him to come even closer. Sirius' hands moved too. He cupped Harry's length and cradled it for a while before he gave a first stroke. Harry arched against him, feeling his teeth scrape against Sirius' lip.

His godfather's groan reverberated through him and the kiss ended. "I'm not going to come like this," he panted, but it sounded more like he was talking to himself than to Harry. "Spread."

Harry spread. He tried to catch his breath as Sirius clambered back to sit between his legs. He had fetched his wand, Harry saw.

Sirius shook the hair from his face. "It's more fun the traditional way. With lube and stretching," he added, for Harry's benefit. "But I don't know how long we're going to last, so..." He gave a lopsided smile. "I'm too hard for you, Harry." And then he provided proof by rising to his knees.

Harry's heart was halfway up his throat by then. Mesmerised he watched as Sirius took himself in hand and stroked. With the glow of the fire dancing across his pale skin, Sirius made a mouthwatering picture as he slowly slid his hand up and down his swollen length. His gaze, though, was almost dreamy. "I want to be inside you," he rasped. "Let me in?"

"I want you too," Harry mumbled.

Sirius bit his lip, and directed his wand tip at Harry. A strange sensation shot through him and he tensed up when he realised what it was. The cleft between his buttocks was coated in something slightly cool and sticky and his... his...

But Sirius was once more lifting his legs and edging closer and Harry saw... Harry felt the whole world spin backwards at a nauseating speed as Sirius lifted his whole arse into his lap and secured his legs around his waist and... And _then... _There was something poking at his ring of loosened muscle and... Harry screwed his eyes shut against the intrusion, half sobbing, half moaning as the blunt head of Sirius' cock slowly pushed inside.

_This _was more than he could bear. He threw his head back and bit down on his tongue as he was filled, wanting it to stop, wanting it to continue forever. It hurt despite the magic. It definitely hurt but there was more to it than that. Harry fisted the duvet so hard his fingers hurt, too. Then everything stilled.

Sirius felt enormous inside him. Tiny silver stars danced on the edges of Harry's vision when he managed to force his eyes open. His godfather's head had fallen back, exposing his throat. His hands were on Harry's hips and he was panting hard.

But he must have felt Harry's eyes on him for he shuddered and lowered his gaze. "I love you, Harry," he whispered. "You are everything to me."

He rolled his hips. Harry almost screamed. But somewhere, somewhere far away, his heart was soaring.

"Legs. Here. Up."

Harry's breath came in small bursts as he fought to place his legs on Sirius' shoulders. He had forgotten he was exposed, he had forgotten about being ashamed for needing this. All he wanted was more when Sirius leaned over him and came as close as he might.

He wanted Sirius to push into him, deeper and deeper and deeper, until he could go no longer. Again, again, again...

Tears were forming in his eyes as Sirius caught one of his hands and pried it free from the duvet. He laced their fingers together and guided their joined hands to Harry's weeping length. It wasn't stroking, but it was well-needed friction. With a growl, Sirius thrust again, his cock throbbing inside Harry. "Won't last," he grunted.

Harry barely managed a groan. The pressure on his length made him want to cry out. Heat was spiralling up through his legs and it felt as if his spine was on fire. Before he knew it, he was coming.

Sirius' deep thrusts guided him through the blinding explosion. He heard his godfather let out another growl, felt a new surge of power, and then a rush of warmth spread through him and his legs fell from Sirius' shoulders as his godfather fell on top of him.

o.O.o

Sirius' mouth was warm on Harry's shoulder. "Sorry," he mumbled, in between kisses.

Harry was floating. There was still the odd whisper of pain when he moved but right now he was floating. Sirius had curled around him and held him tight against his chest. "Why?"

"I guess I sort of forgot about the romance..." Sirius did sound sort of contrite. "Perhaps we should have done it like this instead." He gave a small push with his hips and Harry felt his slack length press against his buttocks.

But Harry made a dismissive sound. He strengthened his hold on Sirius' hand. To be honest, he was not sure he could have handled romance _as well_.

"No?" Sirius left a new cluster of kisses on his shoulder. "Well, we still have next time..."

Harry had a hard time knowing what he was feeling. Waves of something warm and fuzzy was lapping at him and Sirius was holding him so close...

"There _will _be a next time, right?" His godfather had lifted his head and his words were tangling in Harry's hair.

Harry smiled. "I'd like that."

"Good." Sirius lay back down. "And then, of course, there's the time after next time..."

**TBC**


	25. The Prisoner

Back? Back!

**Chapter 25 – The Prisoner**

The first thing Harry knew was that he was very warm. And that he was happy. He lay for quite some time, basking in that warmth until he was conscious enough to feel his arm locked in an uncomfortable position and then he had to move. Gradually awareness crept back to him and he surfaced little by little, until he opened his eyes to timid sunlight that fell in streaks across the bed.

For a moment he could not understand why he would be feeling sore but then he remembered. Remembered it all. And consequently blushed. And quite fiercely at that.

He had rolled away from Sirius in his sleep but he made no move to work his way back into his arms. Beside Harry the older man was still snoring softly. So instead of disturbing him, Harry fumbled for his glasses and crammed them onto his nose. His godfather's face was half-buried in a pillow but from what Harry could see almost all of the lines in his face were smoothed out by sleep and soft daylight, and from Harry's point of view he was breathtakingly beautiful.

_They had done it._

He turned onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. The last time he had done that was after the kiss at the Ministry when he had understood absolutely nothing about anything. The spider webs were gone from the corners now.

Harry Potter found that he was grinning himself silly at nothing.

"Now that's something to wake up to."

Sirius was smiling, too. The was a light coating of stubble on his chin and cheeks and his hair was a tangle of dark locks. "C'mere will you?"

Harry did not need to be asked twice. He shuffled himself into Sirius' arms and wound up with his back pressed against his godfather's chest. Sirius' breath in his hair was warm. "Mmm..." Sirius aligned their bodies, pushing himself against Harry's backside. "Remember last night?"

Harry swallowed and there was a slow twist of something deep in his belly. He could feel Sirius' length twitch against his arse and was surprised it still made him nervous. "Yeah... I was... just thinking about it," he said, hoping he sounded far more composed than he felt.

"You OK?" His godfather's hand found of one of his and gave a gentle squeeze. "No regrets?"

Harry shook his head into the pillow. "None."

"Good." Sirius reaffirmed his hold on Harry's hand and gave the smallest roll of his hips. His voice was low and raspy, "Because there is so much I want to try with you, Harry." Raising himself up just a little, his mouth found Harry's ear and a warm, wet tongue tip teased his earlobe. "I want to taste every inch of you..." His breath tickled Harry's rapidly heating skin. "I want to feel you melt in my arms... I want you open..." His leg hooked over Harry's thighs. "I want to feel you all around me. I want to dress you up in one of Kreacher's rags and take you down to the kitchen and... _ouch!"_

Sirius was laughing as Harry wormed his way out of his arms to glare at him. Laughing – despite the hard elbow Harry had planted in his chest.

"That's disgusting," Harry told him, trying to keep his expression of horror glued to his features. But it proved hard when Sirius was so radiant with glee.

His godfather's eyes were tearing up. "My own... house-elf-Harry" he managed, before grabbing a pillow for a shield when Harry made a threatening move for his wand. "Sorry!" He was still chuckling behind the pillow, though.

Harry bit his cheek to keep from smiling. "You're despicable," he informed Sirius and felt like Hermione.

"Sorry," Sirius repeated, lowering the pillow. But he was grinning madly. "I take it all back."

Harry lifted an eyebrow.

"Well, the part about Kreacher's rags anyway." Sirius smirked. "I'd still like to take you on the kitchen table."

Harry's next breath sort of imploded in his throat. "Yeah?" he croaked, all confidence leaking out of him in an instant.

"Oh yes." Sirius reached for him and drew him closer again. He did not seem content until he had Harry on his back beside him so that he could hover above him. Dark tresses framed his face and his eyes glinted dangerously. "Mr Potter, as your Professor I am informing you that it would certainly be to your advantage if you would let me instruct you in one of the areas of magical duelling sadly often overlooked by most practitioners." His fingertips were sliding down Harry's chest and his belly, making Harry shiver in response. "Namely the one where the attacker and the quarry works in tandem to achieve, ah, most invigorating, results..." His fingers were brushing the hairs surrounding the base of Harry's cock.

Harry licked his lips. There was something in Sirius' voice that compelled him to play along even as embarrassment made his insides squirm. "I'm not sure I understand... Professor."

"I see," Sirius mumbled, fingers finding a way to curl around Harry's wakening length. "Then allow me to show you Mr Potter..." He gave a first stroke, easily waking the sleeping flesh and Harry arched upwards, into his grasp. "Very good," Sirius murmured. "Very good."

His palm was dry on Harry's skin. He stroked slowly, making Harry want to rise up to meet him at every little twist of his wrist. Everything was so warm. Sirius' lips had parted and his eyes were losing focus as he worked Harry's cock hard with his fingers.

"I think," Sirius breathed, "I think I need to swallow you whole, Mr Potter."

Harry's vision darkened as Sirius crawled down his thrumming body to plant a kiss near his navel. Then the lips were drawing closer and closer and... Harry gasped as Sirius licked at the head of his cock with his tongue. The morning air against his wet skin was cool but soon Sirius's mouth returned and Harry whimpered shamelessly as Sirius kissed his way down Harry's length, and all the way up again.

"Now, if you're ready for the next step..." Sirius murmured softly. But he never gave Harry time to consider. Suddenly there was only wet heat as he took all of Harry in his mouth and sucked.

Harry's brain was dissolving. In fact, he would have been quite convinced that his whole being was simply evaporating if it had not been for the insistent pounding in his groin. Sirius' mouth was liquid fire as it enveloped him. The pressure of his tongue made the hairs on Harry's arms stand on end and he felt an urgent need to move. With a groan that flew past his lips he flexed his hips.

Sirius groaned in return. He was holding Harry's swollen cock upright but his other hand was free to roam. Dizzily, Harry felt fingertips brush his chest and then tweak one of his nipples. A tingle woke deep down in the core of his body and as Sirius lowered his head over him again, sucking him with an increasing fervour, Harry felt that tingle expand until he was shaking. He pushed off the mattress and Sirius accepted him, mouth so warm and so wet, and Harry lost track of everything else but that sensation. Finally coming almost broke him apart.

o.O.o

"What about you?" Harry barely dared to ask. He felt selfish and stupid where he lay, trying to get his breathing back to normal.

But Sirius only grinned. "Fixed it."

It must have been obvious that Harry had not understood because his godfather held up a hand. "Wanked."

"Right," Harry said weakly, mortification welling up. "I'm sorry I..." But he honestly had no idea how to phrase his worry so the sentence was left hanging in the air between them.

Sirius, however, shook his head. "Don't. You were so hot." He pressed a kiss to Harry's nose. "Couldn't have asked for more." He winked. "Not this time at least." Another kiss. "Seriously though..." His smiled faded and he met Harry's gaze straight on, "I love you."

This time it was Harry who smiled.

o.O.o

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Harry tore his attention from the morning's _Prophet_. He'd been secretly relieved to find that there was nothing in it on Sirius' new appointment as Professor at Hogwarts. Soon enough the news would be out, he knew, but he was happy if that was not yet. "Sirius, we've been over this... I need to see him."

His godfather was not looking too happy. What was left of their breakfast was cooling between them on the kitchen table. "I know... It's just that … Well, can't you just talk to Kingsley, you know? I don't feel comfortable with you running around in the Ministry's deepest, darkest corridors."

Harry shook his head. "This is my last chance," he said. "I need to see him. I need to _talk _to him."

Sirius grimaced. "And you think he'd happily talk to you?"

Harry gave a wry smile. "I don't see why not. Draco always did like to talk back to me."

o.O.o

This time when one of the gilded fireplaces spit him out into the Atrium, Harry barely recognised it. The old wooden floor was gone, covered by a bright red carpet that could only be linoleum. It was spotless.

The walls were red too, but they shone with a high polish and looked cold and hard to the touch. Harry blinked, already somewhat dislodged by the Floo ride and all that red was quickly making him slightly dizzy. There were lots of people milling about too, and flapping memos and Harry thought he might even hear the distinctive moo of a cow somewhere. He shoved his glasses up his nose and tried to gather his bearings.

"S'cuse me, s'cuse me! Pardon!" A high-pitched voice shot through the air and Harry had no time to jump aside before a tall gangly wizard rushed past him, half-colliding with his shoulder. "Mi scusi, mi scusi! _Excuse me!_" His black robes were flapping around him and Harry caught a glimpse of skinny pale ankles and lime green socks collecting around the ankles as the man tried to weave his way through the teeming crowd. "S'cuse me! Przepraszam!"

Jarred out of his original purpose, Harry rubbed his shoulder and squinted after him. In the wizard's wake, other were following and the crowd seemed to be gathering around something further down the hall. Struck by curiosity, Harry hastened after them.

There was a hole in the floor.

_Not a hole, _Harry corrected himself as he came closer. It was a bloody crater, thirty feet wide and with no bottom that Harry could see.

Excited onlookers were buzzing around it, gazing downwards into the black pit that had opened up in the middle of the Atrium and were speculating wildly about what had caused it. The young wizard was making fruitless attempts at keeping them away from the edge. He wore a blue Ministry badge blinking furiously, Harry saw now.

"Step aside! Mind the edge!" He was waving frantically at group of three portly wizards who were muttering amongst themselves, peering down into the abyss. "S'il vous plaît!" He almost shoved a middle-aged witch in orange robes aside. "Achtung!"

"Johnson!"

The Ministry official immediately stopped the flapping of his arms as a large man shouldered through the buzz. His robes were a proper ministerial blue and his square jaw was set. Harry had never seen him before. "Did I not tell you to ward off this area at once?"

"Yes sir," Johnson said quickly, colour rising in his harassed face, "only I..."

"Enough!" the older man barked. Then he turned to the onlookers. "Off you go, folks! Nothing to see here." His attempt at a smile made him look as though he were suffering from a severe headache.

As the crowd obediently thinned and dispersed, Harry briefly considered staying behind to ask a few questions but one more look at Johnson's superior discouraged him. The crater occupied his thoughts all the way to the lifts, however, and he could not shake the feeling that it was somewhat important.

It was only when his lift was descending deep into the bowels of the Ministry that Harry realised he had no idea where Draco was being imprisoned. He kept to his corner, pretending to be invisible as people got in and out, most of them too busy with themselves or their business to pay him much attention.

Mostly out, he noted after a while and in the end he was all alone.

"The Department of Mysteries."

The lift clanged to a final stop and the doors opened.

Harry stood still in the modest pool of light that the overhead lamp offered. Beyond it lay a dense blackness.

"The Department of Mysteries," the voice repeated, when he made no move to exit.

Harry hesitated. He tried to peer into the dark hall that should be there, but saw nothing. It was oddly quiet down here and even the eerie blue candlelight that usually flickered against the marble would have been welcome.

He jumped when the cool female voice broke the silence yet again. _"The Department of Mysteries."_

"I know," Harry muttered, laying a hand on one of the gold ropes that hung down from the lift ceiling. It, too, was cool. "I know, all right."

He could have sworn there was a snort in response.

"It's just..." he told the voice, "that I don't know where I'm going." And when nothing happened, he added, "I've come to see Draco Malfoy."

He had no wish to deal with the Department of Mysteries ever again if he could avoid it. Harry shivered as the chill of stone crept underneath his clothes and licked at his skin.

He had lost Sirius down here.

Harry's vision swam.

He had fallen to his knees. He was screaming his throat raw. His eyes were burning.

Lupin was at his back, strong hands grabbing at him, tearing at the collar of his jumper.

_No, Harry... it's no use, Harry... He's gone, Harry..._

Harry wanted to die too, There was too much pain to bear. He would give anything to follow his godfather into the void.

The veil flapped.

Sirius was behind it.

Sirius was gone.

_He's gone, Harry..._

A part of Harry died too. Sirius had died... Sirius was dead.

_Sirius is dead..._

"The Wizengamot Courtrooms."

Harry's hand was wrapped around the rope so tight his knuckles hurt. His eyes stung as he forced them open. The blue candle flames flickered and their reflections danced in the marble.

"Sirius?" The name was swallowed up by the stone. A sheen of cold sweat covered his forehead.

"The Wizengamot Courtrooms," the voice answered him, slower this time but crystal clear.

"I don't..." Harry began. "I came to see Malfoy." He let go of the rope, wiping his sweaty palm on his trousers. His heart was beating at an uncomfortable speed.

"The Wizengamot Courtrooms." If he was not entirely mistaken, the voice sounded just slightly weary.

It seemed to take him ages to put the pieces together. "You mean he's down there?"

But there was no further reply. Harry threw a glance to his left where the flight of stairs would lead him down to level ten. "It's worth a shot, I suppose," he mumbled, his own voice sounding awkward as it floated out into the chamber. With a deep breath he followed it out onto the floor.

"So, um... Thanks, I guess." He told the lift.

It was gone before he knew it.

The smell that had permeated level ten on his last visit had disappeared, Harry noted with a wash of relief; he was already queasy as it was. But only half of the torches lining the walls were lit and they cast an uneven and restless pattern of light around him. The heavy doors were all closed. His steps echoed between the walls as he crept warily down the corridor. There was no sign of any other human being and Harry did not know whether to be relieved or worried.

"Draco, where are you?" he muttered to the silence but where the lift had for some reason felt inclined to help him, level ten offered no such assistance.

He passed courtroom number six and his mind filled with images of Algernon Pod. Harry still did not know what to make of the Chief Warlock. He passed number seven as well, and eight, nine, ten, eleven and twelve, too. Then he saw it.

Resting on a small pedestal lay a huge book. It was bound in leather that might once upon a time have been green but it was too well-worn and cracked for Harry to make a proper assessment. Next to it was a matted bottle of ink and a long quill. And a slim wooden box, unadorned but for one single word carved into the lid: _Wand_. It was empty.

The book had no title but did not need one either. The pages were frail and sticky with dust. Harry thumbed through them and squinted in the poor lighting. The first few hundred pages were unreadable, the scribbled names and dates too faded to make out. Then, gradually, letters began to emerge and words make sense.

_14 November 1934: E. B. Lindow-Grant to see Duncan MacNeill, _Harry read. Beside the entry there was a number.

He flicked through the decades. And finally there were names that he knew: Rosier, Crouch, Goyle, MacNair... Harry shivered. He hurried through the entries and came to the very last one. Despite his unease he was slightly disappointed that he did not recognise the names it contained.

In the half-light from the torches, Harry picked up the quill and dipped it into the bottle. The ink was pitch black. He scribbled the date and then paused, recalling Sirius' warnings and fears. But Harry had been honest with his godfather: he needed to do this. So he bent down and wrote:

_Harry Potter to see Draco Malfoy._

He held his breath as he waited. Slowly the digits appeared, taking form on the page next to Draco's surname: _21_.

The hardest part was to pull out his wand and place it in the box. It went against all reason to leave it there but he had to, somehow he knew that. He closed the lid carefully and walked away, feeling naked and extremely vulnerable.

Harry had assumed that the doors down here all led to courtrooms but he saw now that he might have been wrong. Continuing further down the corridor he found door number fifteen, seventeen, nineteen... And twenty-one.

Harry took a deep breath and lifted his hand to knock but before he even touched the forbidding door, the lock clicked open with a sound that might have woken the dead. The door opened a crack and Harry's heart lurched into his throat and his hand shot reflexively to his empty sleeve and the wand that was not there.

But the voice that came sifting out into the corridor was flat and listless. "Oh, do come in. But I'm afraid I have little more to tell you."

There was a weak light spilling out onto the stone floor. Harry forced his heart to calm down and then he pushed the door open wide. And met a ghost.

o.O.o

His skin was pale with a sickly yellowish hue, almost the colour of curdled milk. The grey eyes were empty of everything that Harry had come to know as typical of Draco Malfoy: defiance, anger, hatred, disgust... even fear. Even the fear was gone. They were... lifeless.

Harry knew he was staring, yet he could not stop.

Malfoy was sitting on a poor excuse for a bed shoved into a corner of the room, narrow and hard-looking, his back against the stone wall. He wore an anonymous shirt, greyish and creased, and faded black trousers. He had pulled a blanket over his feet.

They both stared, Harry knew distantly. Trying to understand what the other was seeing.

It was Malfoy who broke the spell first.

"Well... if it isn't Potter." The smirk was weary, only a pale echo of what it once had been. "Oh, Grand Saviour!" He dropped his head back to the wall, his eyes leaving Harry's to stare up at the ceiling instead. He sighed. "Forgive me, but I fail to pretend I'm surprised."

"Hello Malfoy."

There was no chair – nothing but the bed, really, and a stool which Draco seemed to use as a night stand. There was an empty glass atop it. A single gaslight overhead provided them with some light. Harry wished he knew what to do. "How... are you?"

"Oh, I suffered." Draco heaved another sigh. His thin frame barely moving. "But now, in the presence of the magnificent Harry Potter, my suffering has ended." He sounded exhausted. "Go on, do your saving thing." He waved a hand in Harry's direction. "But I warn you, I'm not sure I care much about what happens to me any longer."

Harry took a step forward. His tongue was like lead in his mouth. "How are you, Draco?"

His old nemesis – it felt like a hundred years ago that they had fought their little battles in Potions at Hogwarts - looked him in the eye. "First name basis, eh, Potter? Very well. _Harry_." Then he shook his head, gaze lost to Harry once more. "I'm not sure I care about that either, to be honest."

_At least you're honest_, Harry was about to quip. He bit it back. "I'm here to check on you," he said instead, "and try to help you, if I can." His voice sounded so sharp in the shadowed, dank cell, so awkward.

"I know," said Draco, simply. "I figured you'd pop in eventually."

"I'm sorry I could not help your parents."

"Why? You never liked them. Besides, they broke the law."

Harry frowned. This Draco... this version of Draco was not what he had expected. He took one step closer, feeling the heel of his shoe drag on the stone floor. The moment he was across the threshold the door closed again behind him. He was in Draco's cage now. Defenceless. "But... your mother at least..."

"Forget it." Again that dismissive wave of a thin, pale hand. "Move on."

"But..."

"Listen, Potter... Harry... whatever... Let it go, OK?" Draco finally looked at him again. There were dark circles under his eyes. "Go shake some hands, take some pictures, accept some medal or fancy, galleon-drenched position at the Ministry. Or both, for all I care. Knock up that Weasley girl and marry her while she pops out your kids and tell them bedtime stories of how brave and self-sacrificing you all are. Go and be happy, Harry. But leave my parents out of it." He let out a long breath and seemed to shrink into the wall.

Harry stood oddly calm under that verbal onslaught. To tell the truth, he had expected worse.

"And what about you?"

Draco was silent for a moment, then he shrugged. "I'm rotting away in here, as you can see, and nobody gives a damn. And tell you what, I'll keep doing just that. It's not difficult, you see..." His smile was sardonic. "You sit like this for hour after hour after hour, until you can almost feel yourself melting into the wall behind you. And you _allow _it, that's the trick. You let yourself be soaked up by this cell until you lose track of everything. Even your own heartbeat. Sometimes..." Draco's voice had softened as he spoke and his gaze was almost dreamy. "Sometimes, you're not even sure you exist any more. And the world can keep turning and you can smile for the camera and I need not care one whit."

"Was that how you did it?" Harry asked quietly, a new chill creeping over his skin. "Was that how you managed to survive as a Death Eater under Voldemort? By... slipping away?"

Draco's face was blank. His voice hollow. "Don't even try to guess what happened in that house, Potter. Don't tell me my parents were victims. Don't tell me who I was or what I did. Don't... Just, don't."

Harry swallowed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... I only want to help you..."

He had not, however, prepared for the sudden burst of anger that exploded from Draco.

"Fucking Merlin! What's your _problem_, Potter!?" The ghostly figure sat rigid on the bed, eyes blazing with grey fire. "Of course you want to help! You have to stick your nose into_ every bloody fucking_ thing that you stumble on! I _knew _you'd come to see me, I _knew _you'd want to talk and talk and help and tell me what to do and fucking _try to save me_! _That's_ your problem, Potter: _you're too bloody predictable_!"

Draco's face was distorted with raw emotion and worked like a slap in Harry's face. There was silence of a kind that was strangling.

The accusation was still ringing in Harry's ears when he heard himself say, quietly, and utterly without thinking: "I'm shagging my godfather."

The silence deepened. It turned into a black pool that threatened to suck Harry into itself and never let him go.

There was an odd streak of angry red high on Draco's cheeks. His mouth was slightly open. He was staring again.

So Harry said it a second time, "I'm shagging my godfather." The floor shifted under his feet. _How is that for predictable?_

Draco blinked. Then he shook his head, slowly, as if surfacing from a particularly heavy dream. "You're mad Potter." He licked his pale lips. "Mad. That murdering lunatic you call godfather is dead." Once more he seemed to withdraw from Harry, putting distance between them without even moving. "I don't know what you're on about and I don't want to find out. Thanks for dropping by, Potter. Now you may leave."

But Harry did not move. "Sirius isn't dead," he said calmly. "He came back."

"Right."

"He did. He was never dead."

"Whatever you say."

"Draco..." Harry took a step forward, "it's true."

Draco Malfoy recoiled. "Don't."

Harry frowned. "Don't what?"

"Don't... don't touch me, Potter. Listen, I don't know what kind of sick game you're playing at and I don't want to be a part of it!"

When Harry made another attempt to come closer, Draco spat at his feet like a wild thing. "Get out!" he hissed. "Get out, Potter, and never come back!"

o.O.o

The interest in the newest addition to the Atrium had quickly waned. The crater was more of an inconvenience now, taking up too much space and demanding too much attention from stressed Ministry workers. A temporary sign had been put up next to it, warning anyone from interfering with the wards that lay so thickly entwined across the open void in the floor that they looked like a rich, golden pudding.

_DANGER! _

_DO NOT CROSS, TOUCH OR TASTE_

_For further information, _

_please contact The Ministry of Magic Public Information Services_

Harry had to read the notice three times before actually understanding what it said. The thrashing anxiety in his stomach that was the result of his talk with Draco made it hard to concentrate. In fact, it made him want to throw up.

It was only that third time that he really saw. That he got the idea.

Harry Potter spun around and raced back towards the lifts.

**TBC**


	26. The Art of Going Public

All right, here we are again! For your information, I'm actually working on finishing this story. I currently have four more chapters written but several more will certainly be needed. Still, I do have an end in sight...

In the meantime, happy reading!

**Chapter 26 – The Art of Going Public**

It was all over a rushed-out _Evening Prophet. _Seven whole pages had been devoted to the news that former Azkaban convict and proclaimed mass murderer Sirius Black – who had been presumed dead and gone for _years – _had somehow sprung back to life and – what was even more – had accepted a position at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. To top it off, the front page was more or less one giant photograph – the same old headshot of Sirius that had been plastered all over the wizarding world when he escaped Azkaban in Harry's third year at Hogwarts.

All of it, courtesy of The Ministry of Magic Public Information Services.

It was hard to say what seemed to upset the article writers and the portion of interviewees that were made to represent general public opinion the most. For starters, an almost boiling tide of affront was said to be flooding the magical world. The reason behind this seemed to be a conviction that any information surrounding Sirius' state of existence had been based on a lie. Of course, Sirius Black had been sighted after the war (_everybody _knew that!) but no one officially in charge had had the decency to actually confirm his return to the public, and _that_ was little less than frightfully appalling. The most vocal among the subscribers to this theory of a grand cover-up scheme appeared to – in one way or the other – place the blame for secrecy and truth-withholding at the feet of the Ministry.

Harry did not mind this very much when he read it. Kingsley might be Minister for now but that did not automatically mend the deep rift between the Ministry and Harry, which the latter felt all too keenly. If the focus shifted from Sirius to any ministerial proceedings (real or imagined) Harry could certainly live with that. No, it was the second contingent that scared him more.

For there were those who were livid that a man such as his godfather would ever be considered to be even allowed within sight of Hogwarts, not to mention set foot on its grounds. Advocates of this persuasion argued the loudest, protested the fiercest and said the cruellest things. Harry's heart twisted itself into a knot when he read what they had to say.

It did not matter that these people had no idea what Sirius Black would actually be doing at Hogwarts. _That_ was still a bit of a mystery. Some speculated that he would be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, implying quite heavily that the focus would be more on the Dark Arts themselves than the actual element of defence. Others knew beyond a doubt that he inhabited the Shrieking Shack and was terrorising the good people of Hogsmeade; strange lights had been sighted in the windows of the old haunted house, and one woman declared to every reporter or neighbour (or both) who cared to listen that blood-freezing screams had woken her every night around midnight for the past week. And that was just the beginning of what terrors awaited...

Yet others theorised openly that Sirius Black – certainly it was common knowledge that it was Black who had once been the staunchest and most fervent supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named – had decided to return to Hogwarts to garner support for the Dark cause and throw the world into a new reign of ruthless dominion. These people proclaimed wildly that new children would soon be branded Death Eaters and Sirius Black would rise among them as a new Dark Lord.

All in all, it was enough for a disgusted Harry to want to scream and cry and quite possibly throw up. And it was all his fault.

He had told Sirius the truth. For a long, long while his godfather sat in silence in the kitchen, simply absorbing the front page headline (_MASS MURDERER TO TEACH AT HOGWARTS_) and staring blindly at his own photograph raging back at him. Harry's whole being physically ached for him but he barely dared to breathe, much less reach out to his godfather. He felt as though the kitchen walls were pressing inwards, that the huge chandelier was sending its iron weight downwards and slowly choking him.

He wished again and again and again that he had never done it, that he could take it back. That he had never seen that sign by the Atrium crater and figured that if he let everybody know about Sirius, Draco would see that Harry had not gone insane.

When Sirius finally stirred Harry was certain his godfather hated him.

Sirius rubbed his stubbly chin with the heel of his hand in a dazed movement. He seemed to have some trouble tearing his attention from the paper. "Well..."

Harry swallowed hard. He forced his voice to work. "I'm sorry," he said weakly.

"Yeah."

"I understand if you're angry with me."

Sirius looked up, then. "I'm not angry with you, Harry." His words had a dull, monotone sound to them. But they held an edge. "I would, however, have appreciated it if you had come to me first..."

Harry opened his mouth to apologise yet again but something hard glinting in his godfather's eyes stopped him. Sirius continued instead, "And I cannot pretend I like the fact that you're doing it to help a Malfoy." His jawline looked unnaturally sharp.

Harry's eyes were stinging. He was so very, very, very sorry, but there seemed to be no way to make Sirius understand that. He felt his own lower lip quiver involuntarily.

Sirius' gaze was still glued to his. The crushing silence held for a while longer until Sirius finally made a pained face and his shoulders relaxed just a fraction. "But it was bound to come out sometime. I guess now's a time as good as any." He pushed the paper aside. "The sooner the better, I suppose. This way they will have some time to calm down before the school year starts."

He looked tired now. Harry wanted no more than to touch him but he was too frightened to move lest Sirius should turn him away. "I'm sorry, Sirius, I really am," he almost whispered. "But I had to do _something. _I had to prove to him that I'm not deranged."

His godfather let out a humourless laugh. "Judging by that picture I'm clearly the deranged person here."

"But you're not!" Harry blurted, the tight leash he had held on his emotions loosening a little. "And they'll all know anyway. When the school year starts, as you said."

Sirius shook his head with a bitter half-smile still lingering on his lips. "You're too idealist, Harry."

That stilled their conversation for a while. Harry's tea had gone cold but he did not care.

It was Sirius who broke the silence once more. "Why did you tell him about me anyway?"

Heat crept over Harry's cheeks with eager fingers. "I... I didn't tell him _only _about you... I told him about us." This was difficult. "Um, about... well..."

Sirius' eyes widened. "You what?" He slumped back in his chair. "I'm having a hard time believing that subject simply... came up..."

It was not technically a question and yet it was very much a question. Harry's feet felt numb. "It didn't, not like that... But he accused me of always coming to the rescue–"

"You always do," Sirius interjected with something that might have been the most distant cousin of a grin.

But Harry ignored him and pressed on, with every heartbeat becoming more and more aware of how childish his reaction to Draco's rant had been, and feeling all the more ashamed for it. "Well, there was that... and he told me I'm predictable and..." That was where he had to stop talking or he would never be able to say another word to his godfather ever again.

But Sirius worked out the rest for himself. He stared at Harry in utter disbelief. "And you responded by telling him that I fucked you?"

Harry would honestly not have minded if another crater like the one in the Atrium opened up underneath him in this very moment and swallowed him whole. "I didn't exactly..." he began feebly but broke off quickly since the truth was that he had said more or less _exactly _that.

He had no idea how to phrase it to make it all sound better. More reasonable. More grown-up.

"And he didn't believe you so you told the _Prophet_ about me."

"He didn't believe you were alive," Harry mumbled.

Sirius ran a hand through his hair. And then he did it again. And then, ever so slowly, a small smirk blossomed in the corner of his mouth. He bit his lip, almost as if to keep it from expanding too quickly. "So..." he mused, "you're out." He leaned forward over the table, fixing Harry's eyes with his own. "You've gone public."

A whole new range of emotion rushed through Harry at his words. He had not even thought about that. The kitchen seemed to wobble around him. But he could see that his godfather liked the prospect and he clung to this slight improvement of the situation with all his might. "Yeah, I guess..."

Sirius nodded, his gaze still intent on Harry. "I can't say I don't support that," he said quietly. "Even if the purpose of the revelation was one that I disagree with."

Harry swallowed. "So you're not angry?"

"I'm not angry," said Sirius. "But next time you ask me first, yes?" He shot the _Evening_ _Prophet _a disgusted glare.

"There won't be a next time," Harry promised.

"Good."

After that some of the tension seemed to melt away, leaving Harry's breathing a little lighter. They finished their reheated tea with not another word, however, but with the headline screaming silently between them.

But as they passed the drawing room on their way to bed, Sirius suddenly sniggered in front of him. "They weren't wholly wrong about the Shrieking Shack, you know. It _is _an old haunt of mine, after all."

Harry looked up at his broad back. "Yeah," he said, still wary of the subject.

"Although I've never woken ladies up in their sleep. Apart from my mother, that is, whenever I happened to drop something in the hallway or return home late from some... outing," Sirius continued. "But best not think about her too much."

"Right," said Harry.

Sirius stopped, then, and turned. He towered over Harry in the gloom. "There is only one person I want to be with in the middle of the night." His fingertips were light but earnest on Harry's cheek. "And that is someone I like to think about very, very much."

Harry's breath hitched in his throat. Something was giving way in his chest. "I'm sorry," he whispered into the stillness. "I really am, Sirius."

"I know," his godfather smiled. "And that's enough for me." He bent down and his mouth was warm and comforting on Harry's. The kiss was gentle. "I love you." Sirius brushed his tears away with the pad of his thumb. "I just hope Malfoy comes around sooner rather than later. Or I'll fail him."

Harry drew away just a little. "Fail him?"

Sirius chuckled. "Don't think I don't know you, Harry. You won't be satisfied until you've got Malfoy back at Hogwarts, finishing his last year along with the rest of you." He straightened. "Come on now, if I don't have you in bed beside me within the next two minutes I'll curse you, or eat you, or brand you, or whatever other monstrosity I'm apparently capable of!"

o.O.o

Harry woke the next morning to his godfather placing kisses all over his chest. His skin was already tingling, as if it had begun reacting to the treatment while the the rest of his body was still asleep. Not that Harry complained, though. Sirius' hair tickled his side as his godfather mouthed his way to a nipple and laved at it with a warm tongue. Harry arched upwards on an inhale and opened his eyes. Without his glasses the world was of course a blur so he promptly closed them again, sinking back into his pillow with a smile.

Sirius found his mouth soon after that and they kissed long and slow, Harry's fingers tangling in the long shaggy hair. "I love mornings," Sirius murmured against his skin, warm breath stealing across Harry's cheek in a teasing puff.

"I love you," Harry mumbled, drawing his godfather in for a new kiss.

Sirius draped himself over Harry like a blanket, covering him from top to toe. Harry liked that, he discovered. He liked to have Sirius' full weight on top of him, and he revelled in that sensation until he discovered that certain parts of his newly acquired blanket were definitely more than simply pleased about the arrangement. Sirius ground down gently with his hips, his semi-hard cock nudging Harry's own awake.

Harry skimmed his palms over his godfather's back until he reached the base of Sirius' spine. There he hesitated. Sirius' tongue was sliding against his, his hardness pushing at Harry's and, really, it was silly to not feel courageous enough to touch Sirius' arse. So he steeled himself and slid his hands further down, over the gentle swell of his godfather's buttocks. Sirius moaned into his mouth and the push of his hips grew more insistent.

Heady with success, Harry repeated the action, adding some more pressure to the caress this time. Sirius' cock jerked between their bodies and Harry could not stop himself from grinning.

"Again." Sirius' voice was rough. His hands had found Harry's face and he cradled it, mouth only half an inch from Harry's.

So he did it again. Taking a firm hold of his godfather's arse cheeks he pressed down and in response Sirius rolled his hips. It made a jolt of electricity shoot through Harry. Sirius gasped.

It felt so good, Harry decided dimly, to have Sirius' swollen cock against his own, having him push down like that. And before he knew what he was doing, he was tracing the beginning of Sirius' crease with the tip of his forefinger. His godfather growled, then, and plunged his tongue deep into Harry's mouth.

Harry held on to him, hard. Pushing him down, lifting his own hips as much as he could to meet Sirius halfway. He was half-sobbing by the time he felt his orgasm begin to build in his balls. Sirius' harsh breathing tore through them both, making Harry shiver with need. He had lost track of the kiss somewhere along the way, when all the blood in his body seemed to pool in his groin.

But this time, it was Sirius who came first. He suddenly stilled, mid-thrust, and moaned. It was like nothing Harry had ever heard before. It was a sound that made him want to curl around Sirius' very soul. Then hot release shot between them and Harry choked at the sensation. It was enough to bring him over the edge as well. They shuddered through it together, Sirius' hips still jerking urgently and Harry still reaching upwards, but eventually they surrendered to gasps and breaths and shivers, and Harry dissolved into the dizzy morning sunlight.

Sirius collapsed on top of him, his scorching breaths fanning out over Harry's shoulder. "Fucking Merlin," he panted. "And I wasn't even _inside _you."

Harry heavily turned his buzzing head to press a kiss into the tangled black hair. Sirius' skin was so warm against his. His godfather hand twitched and he dragged his knuckles down Harry's cheek. Harry smiled.

They lay like that for awhile, until Sirius' skin under Harry's palms had cooled with sweat and they both needed to move. With a deep sigh, Sirius pushed himself up and rolled off Harry. "Hold on," he muttered.

There was some shuffling and then he pressed Harry's glasses into his hands. Grateful, Harry shoved them onto his nose. The suddenly sharp contours were eye-watering but as soon as he spotted his godfather's bright face it was worth it. Sirius was grinning, looking ten years younger as he met Harry's gaze.

"Just for you information, you're a great shag, Harry Potter." The grin turned into a smirk. "Just as I knew you would be." The smirk deepened. "And you have my permission to tell Malfoy that, should he ever ask."

Harry pulled him down for another kiss, if only to shut him up. But mostly because he had no idea what to say to that.

o.O.o

It had been best to invite them over.

"But that's..."

"It's..." Hermione frowned, "it's good, right?" She looked up at them questioningly, brow knitted in concentration.

"Of course it's good!" Ron exclaimed. "It's bloody brilliant, that's what it is." He looked from Harry to Hermione and back to Harry again. "It means that Harry won't be feeling guilty for going back to Hogwarts and – _and, _mind you – it means that there will be at least _one_ subject this year that we are guaranteed to not fail!" He beamed.

But Hermione gaped at him. "Ronald Weasley! Just because Sirius will be our Professor does_ not_ mean he will give you a free pass in Magical Duelling!"

Ron stared at her. "Of course he will! He can't fail us!" He jerked a thumb at Harry. "He's Harry's godfather, remember?"

"Of course I _remember_," she glared at him. "But he will grade us on the same principles as he will all the other students!"

"But that doesn't make any sense," Ron protested.

"It makes perfect sense, Ron! If Sirius would–"

"Hold on!" Harry interrupted. "'Us'? I thought you weren't going back, Ron?"

Ron turned a sheepish smile at him. He shrugged. "Figured I'd just as well, y'know." He shot Hermione a glance. "Want to make sure no wanker makes a move on her, and stuff."

Hermione's already flushed cheeks acquired a deeper shade, but she ignored him. "Besides, Harry, as soon as we saw last night's _Prophet _we knew _you_ were definitely going back."

"Yeah," said Ron. "Makes no sense not being there together."

Harry found himself grinning stupidly from ear to ear. "It wouldn't be the same without you."

Ron winked at him. "Figured."

There was movement by the doorway, Harry caught it in the corner of his eye. When he turned to look, Sirius was hovering by the threshold, Levitating a laden tea tray. He was smiling. "Am I interrupting?"

Hermione immediately sat up straighter. "Oh, not at all!"

Ron rolled his eyes at her. "Hey Sirius! Good to see you, mate."

Sirius sent the tray to land gently before them on the table and then strode into the drawing room. His eyes, searching, travelled over Harry where he sat crammed into the sofa next to his friends. Harry looked away, the bubbling joy Ron's news had evoked in him immediately crushed by a forceful feeling of guilt. By the way Sirius dropped into the armchair furthest away from him, it was obvious that his godfather had understood.

_I have to tell them._

All too familiar anxiety once more churned its way through his stomach.

_I have to tell them, I have to tell them, I have to tell them..._

But what would they say? What would they think of him?

_Ginny could handle it,_ he told himself. _You even told Draco Malfoy – of all people!_

But he just... couldn't.

Hermione was accepting tea from Sirius with every courtesy, no doubt already thinking ahead to assignments and examinations. What would she say if she knew? How would she see Sirius then?

Ron was lounging beside him, enthusiastically envisioning upcoming Quidditch practices. "You'll support Gryffindor, won't you, Sirius? I mean, of course you will, right?"

And Sirius was smiling at him, warmly, like a brother, or a father almost. "I wouldn't dare anything else."

And Ron was clapping Harry on the back, saying how he was the greatest Seeker of all time and Sirius was agreeing that, yes, naturally he would love to see Harry – see them both – play.

What would they say if they knew?

He drank his tea obligingly, never tasting it.

"Mum and dad support you," Ron was saying to Sirius. "I mean, mum threw a fit over the articles at first and she could barely do much more than splutter, but when she calmed down enough to speak properly she said she supports you." He grinned. "Bill says it's the best idea McGonagall's ever had and Charlie and George agree."

He did not mention Ginny. Harry could only guess what she might be thinking.

"As a matter of fact, we're kind of grateful, mate," Ron went on, more earnestly now and leaning forwards in his seat a little. He grimaced at Sirius, "Mum needed something else to think about..."

Sirius gave a half-smile. "No problem," he said, simply.

Hermione had been quiet for a little while, sipping her tea thoughtfully but now she voiced her concerns. "Where's Kreacher, Harry?"

Harry glanced over at Sirius. For a moment his godfather's mask of easygoing amiability slipped just a fraction. "Um," Harry said, "we... we're not exactly sure, to be honest."

She frowned. "You're not sure where he is?"

Sirius shifted in his seat. "We had a bit of a... Well, we had a falling out of sorts. I suppose you could call it that."

"You _argued_? About what?" She set down her cup with a clatter, worry making her anxious. Anxiety making her voice a tad shrill. "You know what he is like, Harry. He could be, oh I don't know, _doing something_!"

"We didn't send him off, Hermione," Harry said quickly. "He's still in the house somewhere. He has to be."

"It's fine," Sirius reassured her. "He'll be out and about again in no time." He smiled.

"If you had an argument you had best _not _have him 'out and about'," Hermione declared. "You know what happened last time!" Too late did she realise what she had said and clamped a hand over her mouth, brown eyes wide. "I'm so sorry," she breathed, her voice muffled. "I didn't mean to..."

"It's OK," Harry told her. "It turned out all right in the end." When he dared to look, Sirius' gaze was soft on him.

"It did," Sirius echoed him quietly, eyes not leaving Harry's face. "It certainly did."

"Well..." She cleared her voice, hands now firmly clasped together in her lap. "You will still want to know what he is up to."

Ron waved a hand dismissively at her. "All that's over, Hermione. They will want to know where he is so that they know if they can expect dinner. Because I've never seen Harry cook in my life. Nor you, Sirius, to tell the truth."

"We manage," Sirius grinned at him. "The trick is to think less about food and more about... other things. Keep your mind of it, you know."

Ron looked at him as if he had grown a second head. "Other things? Than food?"

"Yeah," Harry said, pulling his racing thoughts back from the memories of that morning.

Ron's face was a perfect picture of bone-deep disbelief. "That's crazy talk," he muttered. He shook his head as he sank back into the sofa. "Crazy."

**TBC**


End file.
